


Coming Around Again

by RobinLeStrange



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Smut, Tenth Anniversary, basically the whole shebang!, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 88,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/pseuds/RobinLeStrange
Summary: For the 'What if' prompt for the Cormoran Strike First Fest.What if Strike hadn't made it to the church in time and Robin had never found out he wanted her back?
Relationships: Matthew Cunliffe/Robin Ellacott, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 357
Kudos: 227





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Beginning of this chapter (in italics) taken from Career of Evil by Robert Galbraith.

**2nd July 2011**

_“Park here, anywhere here!” said Strike, spotting two dark blue Bentleys adorned with white ribbons parked at the far end of the square, the chauffeurs talking with their hats off in the sunshine. They looked around as Shanker braked. Strike threw off his seatbelt; he could see the church spire over the treetops now. He felt almost sick, due, no doubt, to the forty cigarettes he must have smoked overnight, the lack of sleep, and Shanker’s driving._

_Strike had hurried several steps away from the car before dashing back to his friend._

_“Wait for me. I might not be staying.”_

_He hurried away again past the staring chauffeurs, nervously straightened his tie, then remembered the state of his face and suit and wondered why he bothered._

_Through the gates and into the deserted churchyard Strike limped. The impressive church reminded him of St Dionysius in Market Harborough, back when he and Robin had been friends. The hush over the sleepy, sunlit graveyard felt ominous. He passed a strange, almost pagan-looking column covered in carvings to his right as he approached the heavy oak doors._

_Grasping the handle with his left hand he paused for a second._

_“Fuck it,” he breathed to himself, and opened it as quietly as he could._

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the marriage of this man and this woman…”

The vicar’s singsong voice peeled loudly through the building, reverberating off the high ceiling, but as he squinted from his position at the back of the church Strike realised something was amiss. The man stood at the altar didn’t look like Matthew, and the woman, with her brunette hair fashioned into a tight bun and a tattooed flock of butterflies fluttering across her bare left shoulder was most definitely not Robin.

For the first time in hours, Strike bothered to check his watch.

“Fuck it!”

A hundred pairs of eyes turned to glare at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, retreating backwards through the heavy oak doors, “Wrong wedding.”

Even Shanker was surprised to see him heading back quite so quickly.

“Kick ya out did she? I tried to warn you mate…”

“Shut up and get back in the car, we’ve got another stop…Swinton Park.”

* * *

Robin plastered a smile on her face yet again as she and Matthew approached the crowds of guests sipping champagne on the terrace. Matthew had been watching her like a hawk since the moment they’d left the church and she knew any sign of discontent was likely to cause tension.

_He didn’t come…_

She’d been so sure he would turn up at the last minute. But then what? Beg her to come back? Stop the wedding altogether? Robin had no idea, only that she had been convinced it wasn’t really over. Strike obviously had different ideas though, she thought, and what was done was done.

Relieved that she could at least put her arm brace back on and have a drink, she greeted her new in-laws with as convincing a display of false enthusiasm as she could muster and resolved to make the best of it, oblivious to the large, shambolic figure watching her from the furthest corner of the car park.

* * *

Strike paused for a second to gather himself, took a deep breath and looked up purposefully, set to head across the lawn, take Robin aside and do whatever it took to convince her to come back to him…

_The agency…not to me…I need her to come back to the agency._

If he repeated it often enough in his head, perhaps he might start to believe that was the only reason he couldn’t let her go.

But just as he was about to step onto the wide expanse of perfectly manicured lawn, Robin turned, and he saw her face for the first time in days. She was radiant, head thrown back, laughing as she cuddled her little niece on her hip with one arm and accepted a glass of champagne from her new husband with the other hand.

Strike felt a sickening lurch in his stomach that had nothing to do with nicotine consumption, hunger or lack of sleep. The adrenaline that had kept him going for the duration of the drive suddenly dissipated, leaving every inch of his battered body awash with pain as he turned back to Shanker, defeated.

“We’re going home.”


	2. The Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentine's Day 2020, and Robin is planning a birthday celebration and a Valentine's meal, but makes an unpleasant discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this fic before Covid-19 ran riot across the world, and for the purposes of fiction and given there's enough to worry about at the moment, I've decided to studiously ignore it's existence.
> 
> Please suspend your disbelief here!

**Valentines’ Day 2020**

“Mummmmmeeee, where’s my toast?”

“But I’m already seven…you said I was born in the morning, why can’t I open my presents? It’s not fair!”

It wasn’t yet nine o’clock and already Robin Cunliffe was getting a headache. The kitchen was in disarray, and she was fighting a losing a battle with the toaster, which her husband had been supposed to fix the previous evening.

“Buggering Matthew,” she cursed, rummaging in a drawer for a pack of fuses just as three-year-old Edie wandered in, still in search of her breakfast. She was wearing a shocking pink, glittery tutu over her onesie, accessorised with her brother’s Buzz Lightyear wellies, several strands of beads and a pair of bunny ears. She looked up at her mother out of wide blue eyes.

“Why is daddy a bugger, Mummy?”

Robin blinked. She had no response to her daughter’s question.

Still, she thought, he had gone into work early so he could finish at midday and stay home with Edie whilst she took Alex and his five best friends for a birthday treat of bowling and pizza that afternoon. And the fact that Alex had an INSET day was a godsend really. It meant she could get all the party stuff out of the way and have both children tucked up in bed in time for her and Matthew to enjoy the Valentine’s meal she would be cooking later. She’d suggested a take-away, and he hadn’t objected exactly, but there had been several hints that it wouldn’t be quite special enough, and then there had been the roses last night, and now she felt somewhat obligated.

Robin remembered with a start that the flowers were still in their water bag in the utility room and made a mental note to ensure she arranged them properly before he got home, just as the screwdriver slipped, scraping a bloody path across her palm.

“Boll….” She stopped herself just in the nick of time, aware that Edie was still watching her with fascination.

Alex emerged with a package that had been squeezed through the letterbox, its brown paper packaging torn and revealing blue wrapping paper with spaceships underneath.  
Unlike his sister, he had Matthew’s colouring, but his features and facial expressions were pure Ellacott.

“This one’s half open already…pleeeease Mum can I open it.”

Robin huffed a wayward lock of hair out of her face and removed the wad of kitchen towel from her bleeding hand.

“Fine, just that one. But can you get your sister some juice and a yoghurt while I’m fixing the toaster.”

“’kay Mum,” he spotted her hand. “Ouch. What have you done?”

“Screwdriver,” she smiled at him, “It’s just a scratch.”

“Is that how you did that one?” he asked, pointing at the long pale scar that ran the length of her right forearm, the one she rarely noticed these days. She looked at it briefly as though she’d never seen it before and bit her lip.

“No sweetheart, not a screwdriver…now come on and let’s see what’s in your parcel!”

* * *

Three hours later, having finally fixed the toaster, tidied up, wrangled the kids into presentable clothing, hauled them round Waitrose for the extensive list of ingredients she needed for that night’s meal and prepped said meal, all whilst dealing with a never-ending tirade of questions, complaints and requests from both her offspring, Robin shut herself in the bathroom for a few moments respite and a freshen up before Matthew came home.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror.

_God, what a state!_

She knew in the grand scheme of things that the years had been kind to her. Her figure was only slightly plumper for having birthed two children and spent the last few years disposing of their leftovers (waste not, want not), not to mention enjoying the PTA coffee & cake mornings, and wine-fuelled monthly book club meetings that kept her sane. Still, at thirty-five she found herself inspecting almost daily for grey hairs and cursing the shallow indentation between her eyebrows that she was convinced made her look like she was permanently frowning, especially in photos. She was flushed and sweaty and her hair, which she’d washed hastily in the shower that morning, foregoing conditioner, was sticking out at weird angles having been dragged back into a ponytail whilst still damp.

Robin set about splashing her face with cold water and applying enough make-up to ensure she looked presentable for her husband and the assortment of parents and small boys that would be arriving in little over an hour. She wondered where Matthew was. He hadn’t given her a specific ETA, but he knew the overall plan for the day, and had little patience with lateness in anyone, including himself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hammering on the door, which almost resulted in an eyeball-mascara wand interface.

“Alex, I’ll be five minutes, okay, go and watch CBeebies with Edie.”

“But Mummy, Daddy’s on the phone…”

She opened the door to her son thrusting her mobile at her, “…and I’m too old for Cbeebies now,” he added indignantly.

“Matt, where are you? Are you on your way?”

“You’re what?!!! Oh, for fuck’s sake. No…no…NO! I don’t have time to bloody listen, I’ll see you later.”

She cut the phone off with a vicious stab at the screen before realising that Alex was watching her, his eyes watery.

“I’m sorry darling,” she said crouching down to hug him, “Mummy’s just a bit stressed out because Daddy’s got stuck at work…”

“Will we have to cancel my party?” he asked, in a small, sad voice.

“No, no of course not,” Robin reassured him with a quick hug. “You pop back downstairs, put a film on and you can have a packet of crisps each while I sort everything out. Go on, that’s my big, grown up boy.”

Mollified, Alex did as he was told, whilst Robin hit speed dial on her best friend’s number. They’d met at NCT classes and her son Harry had been born just three weeks after Alex. She’d split with Logan’s father when he was tiny and raised him largely on her own until she’d met her second husband three years later. A few years older than Robin, she was currently four months pregnant with her second child.

“Kath? You know you were going to drop and run this afternoon? Have you got anything actually planned?”

“Why? Don’t tell me Matthew’s let you down again?” It wasn’t the first time Robin had called for help when something had cropped up at short notice and he’d been conveniently unavailable. Kath was not his biggest fan, a fact Robin was well aware of, and the reason why she frequently found herself making excuses for him.

“He’s not let me down. He’s stuck at work, so I’ll have to take Edie with us but I’m a seat short in the people carrier. Could you bring her with you and I’ll take the boys all together in my car. I wouldn’t ask but I’m desperate, pleeease?”

Robin suddenly realised where her son had picked up that pleading inflection from.

“Go on then…I’m not actually planning anything other than a boxset and a large bar of Green & Black’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’d do the same for me. What time shall I come round?”

“Sooner rather than later? I’ve still got to clear out the car, it’s like a mobile bin at the moment.”

“I’m on my way.”

Robin hurried to finish her make-up and checked on Edie and Alex who were watching Frozen and happily munching salt and vinegar chipsticks, before heading out to the car with a packet of antibac wipes, two bin bags and the Dustbuster. It was possibly her favourite household gadget these days, as much as she’d wanted to shove it somewhere unmentionable when Matthew had presented her with it by way of a Mothers’ Day present the spring after Edie was born.

It didn’t take long to sort out the front of the car, but the rear seats were a whole other level of chaos. Into the ‘stuff to sort out’ bin bag went a pair of tiny, yellow wellies, a bag of marbles, Jessie the Cowgirl from Toy Story, a Lego police car and three drawings from nursery school that hadn’t quite made it into the house and onto the fridge door. Wedged between the seats was a battered, brown stuffed toy dog which had come with a storybook about a little boy desperate for a puppy. It had captured Alex’s imagination for quite some time, but Edie had been tiny and although Robin had quite liked the idea of a family dog, Matthew had insisted it wasn't really been practical.

Into the ‘rubbish’ bag went several tissues encrusted with various dubious substances, an assortment of food wrappers, a couple of magazines and an assortment of flyers and booklets from the last National Trust property they’d visited a couple of weeks previously.

Robin was just about to fire up the Dustbuster to remove the blanket of crumbs and dust coating the back seat when she saw something poking out from one of seatbelt fittings. She reached in, deftly tweaked it out and inspected it.

It took her brain several seconds to catch up with her eyes when she looked at the shred of foil more closely, and discovered that it wasn’t, as she suspected, a toffee wrapper, but a strip torn from the top of a condom wrapper.

She felt her heart rate increase as she cast her mind back. Matthew had had a team building day the previous month. He’d offered to take some of his colleagues, so they’d swapped cars. He’d fitted the car seats into the smaller A3 that he used for work so she wouldn’t be housebound with the kids for the day, and even had the people carrier cleaned for her on the way back. It was only fair, he’d told her at the time, after having driven it up a long and muddy country lane to the paintball and survival skills workshop in Ashdown Forest. She remembered being mildly surprised that he’d come back in such a good mood that evening, after all, getting his hands dirty wasn’t really Matthew’s thing, especially in what had been pretty foul weather.

“Rob…what are you doing? C’mon we’ve got a party to get to!”

Kathy’s voice broke her train of thought and she took a deep breath and hastily stuffed the incriminating evidence in her back jeans pocket.

“Yep,” she agreed, somewhat over brightly, “Let’s round these kids up and get going.”


	3. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin holds it together for Alex's birthday, but once the children are in bed her patience snaps. Matthew fights dirty.

When Robin arrived back home a few hours later, with two over-sugared children in tow and a car full of balloons and presents, it was to find Matthew watching the Six Nations with a bottle of Peroni, whilst simultaneously chuckling at something on his phone. The surge of anger that tore through her was almost uncontrollable. Almost.

_Not now. Kids in bed first, then I’ll confront him._

“Daddy…” Alex hurtled into the room, clutching a present from one of his school friends, and jumped into Matthew’s lap.

“Happy birthday, son,” he greeted him, ruffling his hair, “What’ve you got there?”

Robin tried to ignore the desire to point out that Alex had a name and was not merely an extension of Matthew. She had always found his constantly referring to him as ‘son’ rather than Alex intensely aggravating. She watched a frown cross her husband’s face as he inspected the toy that Alex was proudly showing him.

“Hmmm…” he mumbled, “What else did you get?”

Alex ran off to drag the gift bag into which Robin had packed his other presents into the sitting room for a session of show and tell. Matthew frowned again at the Action Man his son had left behind and tossed it onto the coffee table.

“Not sure we really want him playing with dolls at his age,” he told Robin, “Or thinking war is something to be glorified.”

 _Dickhead_.

Robin managed to bite back the retort.

“I’m going to get our present to him now you’re home,” she said tightly, “Come on Edie, let’s get your present for Alex too.”

Alex was delighted with his tablet and with his set of Roald Dahl books and chocolate from his sister. Both children were also, mercifully, exhausted by teatime, and Robin breathed an enormous sigh of relief when Matthew chivvied the pair upstairs for baths and bed.

She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and surveyed her surroundings, mentally calculating the likely outcome of a divorce. Thanks to a substantial contribution from her father-in-law Geoffrey, when he had sold the Cunliffe family home and moved to the Costa Blanca with his second wife, they had been able to purchase the house without selling their previous home.

They had kept the Albury Street house, which they had bought from their landlord when Robin had found out she was expecting Alex, and now ran it as a profitable rental property. Still, there was some credit card debt and the finance on the people carrier still outstanding. Robin would have been happier with something less ostentatious, but Matthew was determined, and having not long given birth to Edie, she had found it much easier to let him have his own way.

With a flush of shame, Robin began to realise just how out of touch she had become with their finances since her daughter’s arrival. She’d continued to work part-time after having Alex, but by the time Edie came along, Matthew’s job frequently necessitated business trips, both in the UK and abroad. The cost of childcare had been prohibitive relative to her earnings, so she had become a stay at home mum. She’d minded relinquishing her job considerably less than her studies, but without her own money coming in she had felt unable to justify the expense of finishing the final year of her Open University course and completing her Psychology degree.

With Matthew bringing in the money and overseeing everything with his accountant’s brain, she had found it simpler to let him get on with it, rather than try to debate issues around their finances when it was clear he thought he knew best. Edie’s early months had been less than idyllic, and Robin had been relieved and grateful for the reasonably generous sum Matthew transferred to her account each month for household and personal use, and for not having to think about anything other than herself, her home and her children. Once the dust had settled, she’d tried to re-establish some involvement in the family finances, but Matthew had been resistant, quipping that ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’.

“Is dinner not on yet?” Matthew interrupted her thoughts on his return, “I thought we were making an evening of it?”

Along with the question came a familiar, judgmental glance. Any other time, Robin would have made some effort with hair, make-up and dress, but it hadn’t even occurred to her since her discovery in the car earlier that day. Still, they did need to eat. On autopilot, she rose and took the soon-to-be twice-baked cheese souffles from the fridge and turned the oven on.

Matthew headed through to the utility room to choose a bottle of wine for the evening, and emerged moments later, barely suppressed anger on his face as he dumped the roses, still in their cellophane water bubble, onto the table.

“For fucks’ sake Robs, I don’t know why I bother. Eighty quids-worth of red roses and you can’t even be arsed to put them in a vase.”

Robin felt a wave of adrenaline rush through every vein in her body as she spun to face him, unable to keep a lid on her feelings any longer.

“And could she? Was she arsed enough to put them in a vase? Or perhaps she got something more extravagant? From Tiffany’s maybe?”

She knew damn well what his mistress had received for Valentine’s Day, having spent a significant chunk of Alex’s party on her mobile phone checking bank and credit card statements. Matthew’s old bank account, the one he had ‘closed down’ a little over six months previously, had proved most illuminating. As had her call to the outdoor pursuits centre. They had confirmed that the teambuilding session Matthew had claimed to be on had, in fact, been cancelled three days beforehand due to the incoming Storm Brendan.

He hadn’t changed so much since the run up to their wedding that she couldn’t recognise that look on his face…again. This time he didn’t even attempt to deny it.

“Been playing the detective, have you?” He gave a nasty smirk, “It really is tragic how you can’t let that go.”

“It really wasn’t necessary when I found this…” she reached into her jeans pocket and furiously brandished the torn condom wrapper at him “…in between our children’s bloody car seats!”

He paled slightly, if nothing else chastened by the evidence of his own carelessness and stupidity, but it didn’t take him long to recover.

“What do you expect, when I’ve had to put up with suspecting you still have feelings for him after all these years. That every bloody wedding anniversary you’re preoccupied thinking of another man, that you’re probably thinking about fucking him when we’re in bed together, or when you’re getting yourself off when I’m not around.”

Robin visibly flinched, turning scarlet. It wasn’t like Matthew to be so crude, or so obviously cruel. She felt a scalding tear slide down her cheek.

“I have given everything to this marriage since the word go, sacrificed my career ambitions, my financial independence, had children to the schedule you wanted…”

“You didn’t want our kids then?”

“That’s not what I said…”

He was eyeing her with a calculating expression, and she could almost hear the cogs of his brain turning. She turned to lean over the sink and open the window, taking in lungfuls of the cold evening air in a desperate attempt to compose herself, before turning back to him.

“Who is she?”

Matthew’s eye’s flickered away from Robin’s, and once again she knew immediately, instinctively, her mind catapulting back to last August. There had been a university reunion that he had attended alone whilst she was back in Masham, nursing her mother through the final couple of chemotherapy treatments that had, thankfully, seen off the breast cancer she’d been diagnosed with a few months earlier. She hadn’t known about it until afterwards.

Robin simply looked at him and shook her head, but there was no mistaking the utter disgust in her eyes.

“Dinner’s in the fridge. I’m going to bed,” she stated, picking up her handbag and heading for the door. She turned around at the last minute and added, “The spare room’s already made up.”


	4. Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to catch up with 2020 Strike.

Strike stretched and let out a low, contended groan as he made contact with the soft, warm curves of the woman laying next to him. It had been a while, but some things never changed. Ever since the first night, years previously, taking her to bed had been nothing but effortless, uncomplicated pleasure.

She had become something of a permanent fixture, albeit an intermittent one, which suited them both down to the ground. What was it they called it on the internet? Fuck buddies. Strike preferred ‘friends with benefits’ but despite their mutual respect and a certain amount of affection, even he would be hard pushed to describe what they had as a friendship.

She rolled over, the duvet slipping as she did so, opened her eyes and grinned at him lasciviously.

“Another excellent evening, Mr Strike,” she purred, “…and the good news is, I don’t have an early start for a change, so if you fancy a…” she paused, briefly making a calculation of the previous night’s activities, “…fourth round, I’m all yours.”

He let his eyes wander over the tousled platinum hair that his hands had slid through the previous evening whilst she went down on him, the mischievous blue eyes that always seemed to manage to communicate exactly what she wanted. They had soft lines around the edges now – unlike her contemporaries she had thus far resisted the temptation of syringes of toxins or the surgeon’s knife.

Strike’s gaze continued down the undulations of the body that had afforded him so much pleasure over the last few years and marvelled that they’d not grown tired of one another yet.

“I’ve got a job on later…” he said ruefully, leaning over to kiss her, before dipping his head to take one already hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. She gasped, and felt him smirk against her skin in response, “…but maybe I’ve time for round three and a half?”

She didn’t even contemplate arguing, as his large hands parted her thighs and his mouth moved slowly, inexorably lower.

* * *

It had been a week or two since Strike had done any surveillance, having been forced to rest his knee after an altercation with an angry client had led to him falling awkwardly. It pissed him off no end that despite taking better care of himself these days even a small misjudgement could limit him for days or even weeks. It was over twelve years now since he’d lost his lower right leg and he didn’t think he would ever get used to the frustration. Still at least there were some things it didn’t have an impact on.

He thought of the previous night with Ciara and acknowledged to himself as he took a drag of his cigarette, that he really was a lucky bastard. She’d initially suggested a second hook up when he became briefly famous after solving the Landry case, but he’d eschewed her offer, wary that she might want more than he could offer, or that she was more interested in his newfound celebrity, something he loathed.

She’d married a while later, an Italian photographer that she’d met on a shoot in Sicily, but it had been ill-fated from the beginning and lasted less than a year. So it was that when Al Rokeby had insisted on dragging his big brother out to celebrate his thirty-eighth birthday, he ran in to Ciara again, and this time, his resolve failed him spectacularly, something it had continued to do regularly ever since, to their mutual satisfaction.

There had been other women, in between, when Ciara had been in relationships. Flings, other ‘friends with benefits’, even Charlotte had reared her head at one point, but strangely, when it came to the crunch, her realised his fascination with her had died without him really realising it.

And of course, there had been Lorelei, whom he’d never entirely forgiven himself for hurting. He had genuinely liked her, but love…no, that was closed door to him now, and he had no intention of even attempting to open it.

He had his arrangement with Ciara, his work, his family, his best friends and, finally, a pair of Godchildren he actually liked. His garden flat in Greenwich was his haven, and he had no interest in sharing it with someone else. Life was good, and if on the rare occasion some tiny thing reminded him of how much better it might have been but for the sake of fifteen minutes almost nine years ago, he was well used to tucking the thought to the back of his mind and ignoring it by now.


	5. Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after her confrontation with Matthew, Robin has to endure family visiting for Alex's birthday. Luckily big brother Stephen comes to the rescue.

If Robin had thought that finding out about Matthew’s affair with Sarah Shadlock had been hard the first-time round, there was simply no comparison with the latest turn of events.

The day after Alex’s birthday, Robin had risen after barely any sleep, painstakingly made the spare bed so as to leave no trace that it had been inhabited and pasted on a smile to welcome the family members who were visiting for Alex’s birthday. Matthew had opted to carry on entirely as if nothing had happened, choosing to forget the continuation of the row that had occurred when he’d insisted on following Robin up to their bedroom.

He’d told her he would give up Sarah to save their marriage but insisted that Robin had to accept what he perceived as her role in what had happened. Her dissatisfaction with suburban family life, minimal contribution to family finances over the years (“You could have worked more hours instead of trying and failing to finish a degree that you’ve never even used”), her reluctance to engage with his friends and colleagues any more than was absolutely necessary.

“You use the kids as an excuse to get out of socialising all the time, and not only that…” he said darkly, firmly laying the blame for their lacklustre sex life at her door as well.

But a switch had been flicked within Robin. Whether it had been finding evidence of her husband’s adultery where it could so easily have been discovered by one of their children, or Matthew’s degrading comments of earlier in the evening she didn’t know, but for the first time in so many years of marriage, she would not be the one to back down.

So, she’d argued back, and so had he. No raised voices, they had to think of the children sleeping at the other end of the landing, but years’ worth of pent up misery, home truths and bitter recriminations spilled out in their marital bedroom that night. The more Robin fought, the more aggressive Matthew became, only with words and body language, but still. For the first time, she realised she had been slightly afraid of him for longer than she’d ever realised.

He had told her that if she couldn’t move past his affair and insisted on ending their marriage it would be her choice and she would have to weather the consequences. He would not be the one to move out and relinquish full time access to his children, and he would rather see the house that ‘his’ money had paid for razed to ground than see her benefit from his hard work. The house in Albury Street was currently being refurbished prior to going back on the rental market, and it was perfectly adequate for Robin and the children. Alex would cope with moving schools, he insisted, plenty of children have more disrupted childhoods… “as you well know,” he spat pointedly, another dig at her long-ago friendship with Cormoran Strike.

Robin had given up at that point, exhausted. She had been the one to sleep in the spare room.

By late afternoon, the kids, both her own and the assortment of nieces and nephews in attendance, had crashed out on the sofa with a movie and popcorn, her parents had left, and Matthew had, mercifully, retreated to a wine bar a few streets away with his sister and brother in law, leaving Robin alone with her brother Stephen and his wife Jenny.

“Tea?” she asked, trying not to betray her exhaustion as she rinsed mugs at the sink.

“Lovely,” replied Jenny, “Do you need a hand?”

“No, I’m fine.” Just as Robin spoke, the mug Alex had painted for her at the local pottery café slipped from between her wet fingers and dropped into the sink, where the weight of it shattered two wine glasses before its own handle splintered off.

“Fucking fuck it!” she exclaimed loudly, before bursting into tears, hunched over the sink. Stephen had just walked back into the room and made it over to her before his wife.

“Sis? What’s the matter…oh…” he saw Robin’s much-loved mug and said nothing for a moment as he considered her apparent overreaction. Jenny was at her other side now.

“This isn’t just about a mug, is it, sweetheart. What’s happened?”

Robin turned towards them, her face a mess of tears and snot, but her eyes blazing.

“Sarah fucking Shadlock is what’s happened…again.”

“Again?” Jenny looked incredulous.

“I will bloody…” Stephen had gone from zero to fuming in seconds.

“No, you bloody won’t,” replied Robin, sniffing loudly. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Stephen cleared up the mess of shattered pottery and glass, while Jenny made tea and checked on the children, before the three of them sat down at the kitchen table. Robin told them both about the previous day’s events, Jenny looking sympathetic, whilst Stephen’s face was a picture of abject fury, particularly when Robin described the last salvos of the filthy argument that she and Matt had gone to bed on.

“Right,” he said, once she’d finished. “What kind of a state is the Albury Street house in at the moment?”

“I’m not moving back there,” said Robin, firmly, “If it was just me it would be fine, but Alex and Edie’s whole lives are here. They need that stability while we get through this.”

“Oh, I know _you’re_ not moving out,” said Stephen, “But Matthew most definitely is. In the morning, I want you two to take the kids out for breakfast. When you come back, me and Matthew will be out, Jenny will keep an eye on the kids while you pack his things and I’ll pick them up later.”

Robin stared at her brother, wide-eyed.

“Good luck with that,” she muttered.

Robin had already changed the bed in her and Matthew’s room and set up camp beds for her nieces, Matthew’s sister and her family were driving home that evening as their children had sports commitments on the Sunday morning. Once they’d collected them and said their goodbyes, and the remaining children were tucked in bed, Stephen addressed his brother in law. Even the thought of the phrase made bile rise in his throat. He’d always thought him, quite frankly, a bit of a tit, but now, well…he wouldn’t use the word he was thinking, and anyway, Matthew lacked the depth, warmth and sensitivity…

“Matthew, Robin’s told me and Jenny what’s going on.”

Matt shot Robin a filthy look. Jenny caught his expression and shivered, he really did look malevolent. Stephen took Matthew by the arm and steered him into the kitchen, leaving the women in the sitting room.

“What’s going to happen is this. Tomorrow morning, Jen and Robin will take the kids out for breakfast. You and I are going to Ikea. We will do as many trips as necessary to get what you need for the house in Albury Street. I will help you put it together and then we will come back and pick up your things, after which, you will leave my sister alone for as long as she needs to get her head together and decide what to do next.”

“You really think you can just tell me what to do about my own house and family?” Matthew scoffed, his eyes blazing.

“Matthew, my main concern right now is protecting my sister and my niece and nephew. I’m self-employed, I can work from anywhere. If you want to be difficult about moving out, I can stay here for as long it takes for either you to see sense or for Robin to get legal advice and have you thrown out on your arse. I really don’t care which way it goes, so long as you are not under the same roof.”

Matthew’s face blanched, and Stephen sighed heavily and switched to ‘good cop’ mode.

“Look, whatever’s gone on between you and Robin, you need to think about the kids. I know you love and care about them and you know as well as I do that what is best for them is to stay in their own home with their own school, nursery, friends…put down your anger for a minute and give it some thought, eh? Longer term, solicitors can sort out the details.”

“Solicitors? Don’t be ridiculous, we’re not getting divorced. We’ll work it out, we did last time.”

Stephen rubbed his eyes, exhausted and totally baffled at Matthew’s lack of remorse and denial of the situation.

“I think that’s for Robin to decide. So, tomorrow, Ikea, yeah?”

Matthew nodded. It was easier to go along with this charade for now, he thought. He’d talk Robin round before long.

“Good,” replied Stephen, and headed back to the kitchen.


	6. A Chance Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the agency's forensic computing expert is incapacitated, Strike has to stand for him at a meeting with a potential new client.

It had been almost a month since Strike’s last liaison with Ciara. She’d been on a shoot in California for a couple of weeks and then visiting family on her return. He hadn’t given her a great deal of thought to begin with, and he knew she would feel likewise, but his libido was beginning to twitch and he’d been delighted to receive a text from her suggesting they get together later that evening.

Even better, he was working from the office that afternoon, and there was a perfectly discreet restaurant around the corner where they could eat before heading back to his place.

He was still working in Soho, having moved some years previously to a serviced office with a lift in Archer Street. He had anticipated staying at Denmark Street until the developers chased him out with a wrecking ball, but after an initial blip following the Shacklewell Ripper case and its aftermath, the business had expanded, steadily at first, then significantly, and soon his need for more space outran the pace of Consolidated Property’s redevelopment plans.

Strike had had mixed feelings about saying goodbye to the old place, full as it was of memories both good and bad, but the new offices were light and spacious with modern amenities and a lift. The bare brick walls and dark wood floors added some much-needed warmth and reminded Strike a little of Denmark Street. There was even a small balcony, ideal for cigarette breaks. He retained his longest standing employees, Andy Hutchins and Sam Barclay, and in the last couple of years had recruited two more investigators.

Spanner, brother of his best friend, Nick Herbert, had also joined Strike Investigations. He’d grown bored of the engineering side of technology and taken a course in forensic computing. With so many jobs now being cyber-based he was an invaluable member of the team.

And it was his number currently flashing on Strike’s mobile phone.

“What’s up Spanner?”

“It’s me, Nick…”

“What are you doing with Spanner’s phone? Where is he? He’s got an appointment in Richmond this afternoon?”

“Yeah, he’s not going to be able to make it, we’re at the hospital – I’m his emergency contact.”

“Fuck! What’s he done now?” Strike could tell from Nick’s voice that whatever it was, whilst serious enough to scupper his plans for the afternoon, was not a matter of life and death.

“Come off his moped. Mild concussion and suspected broken collar bone. We’re waiting for x-rays.”

“Jesus…is he ok to talk?”

“Yeah, I’ll hand you over.”

“Alright Oggy, sorry ‘bout this mate…ow.”

“You alright.”

“Providing I don’t move.”

“Do you need me to put off your appointment this afternoon? Hale, Warwick and Ellroy isn’t it?”

“Yeah…I was actually hoping you could go in my place?”

“I know bugger all about forensic computing.”

“But you can do the initial meetings and take the details of what needs doing. I think there might be a bit more to it from what Kam said anyway. Apparently, the guy that needs checking out is a proper arsehole, and his wife is quite limited as to when she can make appointments ‘cos of the kids. I don’t really want to let them down when she’s had to arrange childcare…”

Spanner had developed quite a thoughtful streak since meeting his girlfriend, Penny, a nanny. They’d been living together for a year now and had recently acquired a French Bulldog puppy named Spock, ‘by way of a trial run…’ Spanner had winked, when he’d told Strike, Nick and Ilsa the news.

Strike sighed and checked his watch. The appointment was at 2.30pm in Richmond. It would take at least three-quarters of an hour to drive there, let alone find a parking space and it was already gone 1.15pm. It was a ball ache, but a potentially lucrative ball ache, so he murmured his agreement, noted down a few details and, pushing thoughts of the leftover takeaway he’d been planning to microwave for lunch to the back of his mind, headed out to pick up his car.

* * *

It was almost 2.45pm, and Robin was getting anxious, despite the reassurance of her solicitor, Kamilah Ellroy, that the expert she’d enlisted to help them get to the bottom of Matthew’s duplicitous financial dealings had definitely not cancelled and would be there.

“Chris is brilliant, we’ve used him for a couple of years now. There is nothing he can’t extricate from the workings of a computer or mobile phone, believe me.”

Robin fiddled with the sugar sachet on the saucer that had accompanied her disappointingly insipid cup of tea and took a deep breath as quietly and unobtrusively as she could manage. It had been years since she’d had a panic attack, but they’d been creeping up on her again over the last few weeks. She jumped visibly as the door opened behind her.

“I’m sorry,” said a gruff voice behind her, “…Chris was unable to make it at short notice and I’ve had to drive from Soho…”

His eyes dropped from Kamilah’s to the face of the woman on the opposite side of the table who had had her back to him but had turned in her chair and was now staring up at him, open mouthed.

“Cormoran?”

“Robin?”

His own jaw dropped slightly and he had an unnerving feeling that the expression on his face must be not dissimilar to the one that had crossed it when he’d descended the stairs in Vashti nearly ten years previously, watching Robin’s green clad reflection in the mirror.

“You two know each other?” A high-flier in her late twenties, the brief flurry of press interest in the last case the pair had worked together nine years previously had largely passed Kam by. She’d been far too busy working towards her law degree to read the tabloids.

“Yes,” Robin’s voice was barely audible.

“We…used to,” Strike, who had years of experience of recovering his composure in difficult situations was completely pole-axed.

Reading the situation, if not for what it was, then certainly for something potentially problematic, Kam asked if they’d like a few minutes whilst she organised more (completely unnecessary) drinks.

“Um…no, thank you,” stammered Robin, “I’d rather crack on…childminder…” she shrugged apologetically.

Strike dropped into a nearby chair, pulled out his notebook and pen and set about taking extensive notes as they discussed Robin’s concerns. Whilst her brother had frog-marched Matthew to Ikea the weekend that her marriage had imploded, she had eschewed the breakfast outing, letting her sister-in-law take charge of all four children whilst she went through the family filing with a fine-tooth comb. The trawl had revealed several idiosyncrasies in various items of paperwork. Robin had also ferreted away Matt’s old laptop and mobile phone, which had been replaced just a few months earlier, after she believed his affair had started.

Although he had moved out of the house, he was still being difficult, insisting that they should try again, and refusing to engage with any discussion beyond arrangements for him seeing the children. He had insisted that Robin break the news to Alex and Edie that Daddy was moving out because he and Mummy ‘didn’t love each other in the right way anymore’. She had reassured them that it was nothing they had done, that they were much loved by both parents and would still see Daddy often. Still, she hated Matthew for putting the responsibility on her for something that had been caused by his actions, and the day she had sat down with them for ‘the talk’ had now bumped the day that Strike fired her down the list to the third worst day of her life.

Strike could feel Robin’s eyes on him as he made copious notes in his spidery handwriting. It was glaringly obvious to him that the passage of time had done nothing to dull her wits, notwithstanding her error of judgement in trusting Matthew with the finances, but at least she had kept some in her own name. It took the best part of an hour to get to grips with the details of exactly what needed looking into, and once he confirmed their course of action, Strike took his leave, politely bidding Robin goodbye as he would any other client.

Kam watched Robin intently as she in turn watched him disappearing along the corridor, through glass double doors and into a highly polished steel lift. She’d been white as a sheet when she’d arrived that afternoon, her exhausted pallor exacerbating the appearance of the dark circles beneath her eyes. Now she was flushed, and the lengthy conversation appeared to have done little to set her mind at ease.

“How did you say you knew Cormoran again?” she enquired.

Robin turned slowly to face her. “I didn’t…but…I used to work with him, a long time ago. We parted company suddenly and not on the best of terms. We’ve not spoken since.”

“Is that going to be an issue.”

Robin snorted softly, knowing all too well that if Strike was nothing else, he was professional to a fault.

“No, not at all.”

“Ok, well if that’s all, I’ll give you a ring when I hear back from him with some news and we’ll arrange a meeting and take it from there.”

Robin made her way out of the building, phone in hand, texting furiously to let Kath know that her meeting had overrun and she’d be back to collect Alex and Edie as soon as possible. She was so engrossed that she didn’t register Strike’s bulk on the quiet street until she walked straight into it. He spun around, cigarette in hand, ready to admonish the clumsy idiot that had just knocked into him and narrowly avoided causing further damage to his leg.

They looked at one another, frozen to the spot for several seconds on the chilly London Street. It was Robin who spoke first.

“I just want the truth about what he’s been up to,” she stated defensively, “…and I have two children to consider in all of this.”

Alex and Edie had not cropped up during the conversation they’d had with Robin’s solicitor, focused as it was on property and finances. If Strike was surprised at this information, he didn’t show it, turning his head away a little and exhaling a stream of smoke.

“I’m not one of those women,” she continued. It came out reflexively, before Robin had a chance to question why she felt the need to justify herself, why she would be so bothered if Strike tarred her with the same brush as the spoilt, rich divorcees whose husbands they had tailed so many years previously.

Strike, momentarily speechless, tried to force his brain to compute the situation, the fact that Robin was standing in front of him after so many years. He was relieved to see that the years she'd spent with Matthew had clearly done nothing to diminish her fighting spirit. He smirked involuntarily.

Robin, noticing the quirk of his lips, was incensed at his finding the situation so amusing. She was gathering herself to respond when her phone rang.

“Yes?” she replied irritably, then more contrite, “Oh sorry Kath, yes I’m on my way now, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

And with one final, steely blue look at her former business partner she turned on her heel and marched in the opposite direction to the nearby car park.


	7. Cigarettes and Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin both try to make sense of their unexpected meeting.

Strike did not head back to his vehicle, but instead made for the bar he’d passed on the way to the solicitor’s office.

The Mitre was a traditional pub, with warm wood and leather furniture and a mind-boggling selection of real ales. He ordered a pint and sank into a wing-backed armchair next to the blazing open fire.

It had been almost nine years since he had last seen her, and although he knew he still thought of her more often than he should, he had always chosen not to over-analyse the fact. He had known that he was never likely to see her again, but still, every so often, when he was on his own in his flat at night and his wilful imagination refused to be controlled, he couldn’t help feeling that despite of his words when he sacked her, things had never really been properly finished between them.

The late afternoon winter sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating his pint and casting an amber shadow onto the table. Robin had had her hair up that afternoon, swept back in a neat chignon, which had been on danger of collapse by the time they’d had their confrontation in the street, silky strands flying loose in the wind as she’d made her speech.

She’d been wearing green as well, a deep forest coloured shirt tucked into a knee length cord skirt with thick black tights and knee high boots, and she still wore a camel coloured coat like the one she’d wrapped around his arm to stem the bleeding after he was attacked by John Bristow.

He finished his pint, and knew he should return to his car, but was equally aware he only had desk work on the following day. He returned to the bar, ordered another pint, and a whisky chaser, and for the first time in years, indulged his wandering mind.

* * *

“Shit, Robin, what happened at the solicitors? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Kath stood aside to let her friend into the house, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Erm, kind of. Is Edie ok now?”

“She’s fine, just a bit unsettled.”

“Yeah, that’s happening a lot at the moment…unsurprisingly.”

Robin poked her head around the sitting room door where her daughter was now happily ensconced on the sofa with a sticker book, whilst Alex and his friend played with Lego on the floor.

“So, what happened, do you want a cuppa? Something stronger?”

Before Robin could object, Kath had poured her a small glass of white wine from the bottle her husband had started the previous evening. Robin eyed it hesitantly for a moment, then took a small sip.

“The investigator the solicitor has organised is a specialist in forensic computing, but he couldn’t make it, so his boss came instead.”

“What a pain in the arse. Did you not get anywhere then?”

“It was him.”

Kath looked at her, puzzled, for a moment, then realisation dawned. She was the only person Robin had confided in about the events that had preceded her marriage to Matthew, aside from Vanessa Ekwensi, who she'd long since lost touch with.

“Him? You mean him-him?!”

Robin nodded. “Yup.”

“Oh…fuck.”

“Yup.”

Silence fell between the two women. Robin had not only confided the facts of the matter to Kath, but also confessed to her confused feelings about Strike, which still lingered after all these years, despite her trying to convince herself they were purely job related. She was painfully aware that the reason she had been so mortified when Matt had made his accusations was because they were, at least partially, true.

“So how do you feel about seeing him after all this time?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Bit like the first time you met him then?” quipped Kath with a grin. Robin sighed, took a deep breath and pulled herself upright.

“It’s just a shock. It’ll pass. He’s not doing the actual work, so I probably won’t see him again.”

Kath looked her up and down thoroughly.

“You want to though.” It was statement rather than a question.

“Yes, I would like to see him again. Despite how it ended it always felt like there were loose ends. Like I never really had closure on what happened. I mean, I wouldn’t have been surprised to get a bollocking but being fired like that, no warning, nothing…”

Kath watched and waited, allowing Robin time to work through her thought processes. She bit her lip.

“Anyway, what I want isn’t really a priority at the moment. I wonder if he’s married now, or in a long-term relationship…maybe he got back together with Charlotte?”

“He’s not and he didn’t, and you know it. It would have been in the news at some point. The man doesn’t exactly fly under the radar, much as he might like to.”

She finished the rest of the wine, aware of Kath’s sceptical gaze, and replaced the glass on the table with a determined clunk.

“Right, enough of that. How did your scan go?”

* * *

Strike was standing precariously on the tube some hours later when he felt his phone vibrate in his coat pocket. Checking it, taking into account the fact that he was strap-hanging and several pints and whiskies to the bad, was not an option. He swore under his breath, but louder than he had intended much to disapproval of an immaculately turned out woman in her sixties who was tucked beneath his elbow.

“Sorry…” he muttered, registering her expression grow even crosser as the wave of beer and whisky fumes hit her, “S’been a bit of a day.”

She raised an eyebrow and he thought he detected a hint of sympathy in her china blue eyes as she turned away as best she could in the crowded carriage.

Blue eyes…like Robin’s, his mind wandered. She would be immaculate when she was in her sixties too, he was sure of it. He squinted at the older woman and wondered what colour her silver hair had been in her youth. Perhaps she’d had a mane of strawberry blonde hair, and a green dress, and been unhappily married to a complete wanker. His eyes dropped to the woman’s left hand, clinging onto the pole by the door. The rings on her left hand were an old-fashioned style, crafted in warm yellow gold and well-worn from years in situ. Clearly her husband wasn’t a wanker, he thought. Or maybe he was, and she just put up with him, not like Robin, with her determination and her courage and her…

_For fuck’s sake, Strike, get a grip._

A sudden jolt as the tube speeded up brought him back to reality with a shock of pain through his knee, and a wave of nausea. In his pocket his phone buzzed again. He closed his eyes and gripped the overhead strap tighter as he hurtled homeward.

By the time he made it back to his flat in Greenwich, all Strike wanted was his bed. He threw his coat onto the stand in the hallway and was already shucking off clothes as he made his way to the bathroom. Minutes later, he was halfway under the duvet, liberated from his prosthesis, when he heard his phone ring in his coat pocket out in the hallway, and he remembered the missed messages from earlier.

“Fuck it all to hell,” he growled, almost toppling over as he reached for his crutches. Since his nephew Jack, had been taken ill all those years previously, he’d never quite been able to ignore his phone in the same way, especially now.

He retrieved the iPhone in its substantial shock-proof case and held it in his mouth as he swung himself back into bed where he flicked a finger across the screen.

> **3 missed messages**
> 
> **2 missed calls**

They were all from the same number. He tapped on the messages:

> **Hey, looking forward to tonight. What’s the plan?**

> **Guess you’re busy…just text me time and place and I’ll see you later. Or I could come straight to yours 😉?**

> **I’ve been invited to a thing in Camden, will be leaving at 9pm. Let me know if you want to come with or (I’m guessing) take a rain check?**

He looked at the time, just gone ten o'clock. He’d been drinking solidly on an empty stomach since before four, and whilst he didn’t like dwelling on the fact that he wasn’t as young as he used to be, at times like this he certainly knew it. He thought of Ciara, her soft curves, silky hair and full lips, her many, many talents in the bedroom that had seemed so tempting just that morning and texted her back.

> **Sorry, something came up this afternoon. Hope you're having a good time at your thing in Camden. C**

Almost immediately his phone buzzed a response.

> **Shame…was rather hoping something would be coming up tonight. Another time then? Soon? Xxx**

He smiled wryly at the screen, turned it face down on the bedside cabinet, and collapsed back onto his pillows and into a restless sleep.


	8. Superhero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after their meeting, Robin faces her first night without Alex and Edie, and Strike pays a visit to the Herberts.

Robin spent the Saturday morning following her encounter with Cormoran Strike in something of a daze, or at least as much as her children would allow. She had barely been able to look at him during the course of the meeting, but when she had sneaked a glance she had been struck but how little he’d aged, although, she supposed, he had always looked older than his years anyway. Perhaps it was just that time had caught up with his face. The main giveaway was the smattering of steel grey at his temples and through his beard.  
He still wore a long coat, similar to the one he had when they worked together, and his presence, if anything, was even more powerful than it had been then.

She’d wondered aloud to Kath if he was married, but she’d noticed that there was no ring, or as on her own hand, a tell-tale white mark where one had once sat.

She jumped when Matthew arrived just after lunch to collect the children for their first overnight stay with him at Albury Street. She’d been so busy packing for them and attempting to wrangle her wayward thoughts about Strike that the reality of the situation hadn’t really hit her.

Alex and Edie were pleased to see their Dad, and Robin pasted on a smile for their benefit and did her best to make civilised conversation with him, however stilted, whilst they put on shoes and coats in the hallway.

“Are we going to do this every weekend?” asked Alex, picking up his action man and stuffing it in his pocket.

“We’ll see son,” smiled Matthew indulgently, before rolling his eyes at Robin in a manner that seemed to convey ‘when are you going to put a stop to this charade’.

She hadn’t told him that she was seeking legal advice with a view to filing for divorce. After the threats he’d made in their initial showdown following her discovery of his affair, she wanted to absolutely certain that she had her ducks in a row before getting the process underway. In the meantime, Matthew continued to assume that she would capitulate, allow him to return home and continue with their marriage. She carefully did nothing to either confirm or contradict this belief.

Hugging her children goodbye, Robin waved from the front door, swallowing hard against the lump rising in her throat. Once the sound of Matthew’s car had faded into the distance, she closed the door firmly behind her, walked through to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the kettle. Then she sat down at the table, lay her head on her folded arms, and wept.

* * *

On the other side of London, Strike dragged himself to consciousness through an agonizing fog of stale smoke and beer fumes. His head was pounding and the room seemed to spin with even the tiniest movement. He lay still and silent and tried to recall the last time he’d woken in quite such a state on account of a woman, and realised with a lurch in his stomach that he tried to convince himself was solely down to alcohol consumption, that it had been almost nine years ago, in a Travelodge in Morden.

The demise of his relationship with Lorelei, whilst difficult and guilt inducing, had featured none of the angst – at least on his part – that the ending of a relationship that had lasted the best part of a year might for most people. They’d met the September after Robin’s wedding, and he’d been clear about his boundaries, which she had been willing to accept at the time.

The first six months were good, uncomplicated, but then things had started changing. A hint of irritation in her voice when he had to cancel arrangements at the last minute, the increasingly frequent sighs of frustration when he had to leave her in bed of a Sunday morning to work. At the same time, he kept finding his brain irresistibly drawn back to the events of the previous spring. Robin in his flat after receiving the leg, finding her at the Tottenham, road trips and hotel rooms and toffees. The occasion he’d come so close to saying something but been stopped in his tracks by the reappearance of her engagement ring, and the sight of her in her wedding dress at Swinton Park. By July his relationship with Lorelei had been dead in the water.

His near miss with Charlotte a few months after the birth of her twins and her subsequent separation from Jago Ross had also been less painful than he might have imagined, emotionally at least. He still bore the scar where her nails had caught him just in front of his left ear as he’d left that evening, having realised after dinner and nightcap that he had finally, and without entirely realising it, exorcised the ghost of his first love.

Ciara, of course, presented no such threat to his equilibrium, which suited them both and had done, on and off, for the last eight years.

Strike’s mind was prevented from wandering any further by the ringing of his mobile phone. He scrabbled to answer it, the shrill ringtone doing nothing for his aching head.

“Alright Oggy, how are you doing this fine Saturday morning?”

“Spanner…what can I do for you?”

“Good night was it?” he replied drily, detecting the slight groan in Strike’s voice.

“No. What do you need?”

“I’m not going to able to get into the office this week, so I was hoping you might be able to drop that laptop and mobile off for me, and anything else you want me to work on.”  
Strike groaned, audibly this time. He’d left his car in Richmond in favour of getting blind drunk and needed to get on the other side of his hangover before he even contemplated tackling public transport.

“Any chance Penny could pick it up after work on Monday?”

“Nah, she’s away at the moment. Family she works for have dragged her off on a skiing holiday. I’m staying with Nick and Ils…”

“Come over late this afternoon and stay for a curry.” Ilsa shouted in the background.

“Later works better for me,” Strike agreed, “Okay, I’ll see you about four.”

* * *

A long hot shower, a fry up, copious amounts of water and a large slab of Dairy Milk later, Strike pulled up outside Nick and Ilsa’s house in Octavia Street.

The location was the same, but everything about the home of his best friends was different these days, from the loft conversion to the garden room, and of course the addition of the Herbert’s two adopted children, thirteen-year-old Brooke, and Logan, her nine-year-old brother.

Nick greeted him at the door.

“Alright Oggy? Go on through. We’ve stuck Spanner out in the garden room,” he grinned.

“Bet Ilsa’s thrilled to have her office commandeered,” he replied drily.

“Rather that than having to put up with his clutter in the house,” stated Ilsa, emerging from the sitting room to wrap her old friend in a warm hug. She paused for a moment, holding him at arm’s length, frowning.

“What’s happened? You look rough as old boots.”

She saw his jaw twitch, the way it always did when he wanted to say something but wasn’t entirely sure if he should, and gave his arm another squeeze.

“Go on, go see Spanner, and then you can tell me all about it over a nice cold beer.”

“Tea’ll do actually, had more than enough beer last night.”

He headed through via the kitchen where Brooke was at the table engrossed in homework, and Logan was trying to convince Ossie the now quite elderly cat to beg for Dreamies. Logan ran over to hug his godfather, who crouched down to return the favour and tell him he’d be back after he’d seen Uncle Chris. Brooke looked up briefly and grinned at him, before returning to her books. The sound of Lauv playing on her iPod drifted across the room:

I met a superhero  
I lost her  
I want her back

Strike snorted quietly to himself at irony of the lyrics and made his way out to Spanner to discuss work for the coming week.

In the end it wasn’t until much later that Ilsa got the chance to get to the bottom of what was going on. The six of them ate together, then the kids were wrangled up their rooms, Logan insisting on a story from Uncle Corm whilst Ilsa tried to convince Brooke that she really wouldn’t be missing anything exciting by giving the adults a bit of space for the rest of the evening.

Which just left Spanner, until a surreptitious but meaningful glance from Ilsa saw Nick drag his brother off to the pub.

“Right,” she said, placing a bottle of Doom Bar – Strike’s first, on the coffee table and topping up her glass of wine, “What’s going on with you?”

Strike took a long pull on his beer and sighed.

“If I tell you, you must not say anything to Spanner, okay?”

“Spanner?” Ilsa was confused, and a little worried for her brother in law. Was he in some kind of trouble?

“The client I met with yesterday, when he was at the hospital. It was…,” he paused, she saw his jaw twitch again, “…it was Robin.”

It took only a split second for the penny to drop.

“Robin? Your Robin?”

“Hardly,” he snorted and took another swig of beer.

“So, she’s still with Matthew?”

“Divorcing Matthew. He cheated on her again, and he’s been playing hide and seek with the family finances. She’s got a couple of kids now…”

“Boys or girls?” It was trite response and Ilsa knew it, but her curiosity was piqued.

Strike though back.

“I’ve got two children to consider in all of this…”

No mention of gender. “I don’t know, but I think maybe one of each.”

“Didn’t you talk?”

He looked at her, his expression incredulous.

“Ilsa, it was the most fucking awkward meeting I’ve ever had in my life. She looked like she’d seen a ghost when I came through the door, and I expect my reaction was pretty similar. We did what had to be done and I left.”

Ilsa rolled her eyes.

“Well, she did bump into me as she left…I was having a fag outside,” he explained.

“And it didn’t occur to you to ask how she was or suggest you go for a coffee and a catch up?”

“Not at that moment, no. I was still trying to process seeing her again after all this time, and she seemed, I don’t know, angry with me, defensive.”

“Well you didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

“Thanks for the reminder. I tried Ils, I tried to get her back…”

“Not bloody hard enough!”

She regretted the words as soon as they’d left her mouth. She knew he hadn’t pursued Robin after her wedding for all the right reasons, but she also remembered how he had been afterwards. Between losing Robin and the unwanted and all-pervasive press attention, she and Nick had feared for both Strike’s health and his business for several weeks.

And now Robin was unhappily married and divorcing that idiot anyway.

“How’s Robin looking these days?”

Strike’s face softened. “Like Robin,” he replied quietly.

“Oh Corm,” Ilsa sighed, “Do you want another beer?”

“No thanks, I’d better get off. Today’s been a write-off and I’ve got stuff I need to get done tomorrow.”

Ilsa saw him out to the hall and wrapped him in another tight hug before he left, noticing that he took just a little longer than usual to let go. She felt a wave of sadness wash over her for her best friend. She knew how he was feeling, after all hadn’t she been through something similar with Nick? She remembered the maelstrom of feelings when she’d seen him again over so many years apart, the pain and confusion as they’d found their respective ways back to one another. The elation when they’d both finally confessed their feelings and realised that this was it. It had been fate for them. Perhaps, she thought, it would turn out to be the same for Corm and Robin.


	9. What Calls?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Struggling with Alex and Edie in the wake of their overnight stay with Matthew, Robin resolves to get the divorce underway as soon as possible and heads to solicitor with her draft petition. A blast from the past leads to coffee and an interesting revelation.

Robin woke on Monday morning thoroughly miserable and exhausted. Alex and Edie had arrived back from their visit with Matthew overtired, hyped up and generally out of sorts.  
Having been treated to dinner at the Rainforest Café and a breakfast comprising of piles of pancakes and syrup in a local café, neither child was enamoured of the relatively healthy roast chicken with piles of veg that Robin had lovingly cooked for their return, and she ended up having to bribe them with the promise of chocolate brownies for pudding, which did nothing to improve their state of mind.

Bedtime was tortuous, involving multiple requests for the toilet, glasses of water, cuddly toys that hadn’t seen the light of day for months and ‘just one more page…pleeese!’ Robin had fallen into her own bed shortly after, only to be woken first by Alex, complaining of tummy ache, then by Edie having wet the bed, an unusual occurrence even at her young age.

At four in the morning, Edie had woken Robin a second time, crying out in her sleep. She’d watched her daughter toss and turn, eyes open but unseeing, pain, anger and guilt forming a ball in her stomach at the visible manifestation of her daughter’s distress.

“Is she alright?” Alex’s small voice came from the doorway. Dashing away the hot tears on her cheeks, Robin turned to face him, staring wide-eyed at his sister.

“Shhhh,” Robin put a finger to her lips. “She’ll be fine. It’s a horrible dream, but sometimes it’s better to not wake people up when they’re having a really bad one.”

As she spoke, Edie let out a choking gasp, sat bolt upright, saw her mother and burst into loud, snotty tears. Robin gathered her sobbing daughter into her arms, took Alex’s hand and led them both back to her bed.

She had spent the remainder of the night wide awake, whilst both children slept peacefully either side of her.

The morning didn’t get any better. She dropped Alex at school in his uniform, only to realise it was mufti day, necessitating a round trip back with home clothes after dropping Edie at nursery. Edie had clung to Robin and had to be prised off by her key carer just as she was about to capitulate and taker her home. She knew it wouldn’t be the right thing, that Edie needed the stability of her usual routine, the distraction of her friends, but walking away was tough. She was still in the car park ten minutes later when the nursery manager called to let her know that, predictably, she had settled within a couple of minutes of Robin leaving.

As she did the round trip to collect Alex’s clothes and drop them at school, Robin’s resolve hardened. Living in limbo was doing none of them any good, she’d already drafted her divorce petition over the weekend, and by the time she arrived home for the second time she had made up her mind to drop it in to her solicitor to look over, so that as soon as the results of the investigation into the finances was complete, she could file it and begin the process of moving on.

* * *

Ilsa Herbert’s morning was going considerably better than Robin’s. Nick was on a late shift which had allowed her to get an early start on work, albeit from the chaos of the kitchen diner, rather than her home office in the garden, where there was no sign of movement from Spanner.

Brooke made her own way to her secondary school nearby, and Nick drove Logan to his primary a few miles away. There were schools closer but they’d been more than happy to take on the minor inconvenience of driving him to and from each morning for the additional support the smaller primary with it’s outstanding pastoral and special needs support, and it had proved to be exactly the right decision for their son, who was thriving after a rocky start to his school career.

By the time Nick arrived back, she was ready for a break. He came up behind her, wrapping her in a warm hug and kissing her neck as she loaded coffee pods into the machine on the kitchen counter.

“You alright love? You’ve been a bit quiet over the weekend.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…”

“Worried about Oggy?”

She turned and kissed him.

“I just wish there was something we could do. I hate seeing him so miserable.”

“I know Ils, but he’s a big lad, he needs to deal with it himself.”

“Like last time? Drowning in a sea of alcohol, engaging in disastrous one-night stands and letting his health slide? If only we were still in touch with Robin…”

“But we’re not, and there’s no way of us getting in touch with her.”

Ilsa flushed and turned back to the coffee, not meeting his eye.

“Ilsa…what have you done?”

“Nothing…”

“Mrs Herbert. I know you, what are you up to?”

“Nothing, honestly,” she replied. There was a pause and she let out a heavy sigh. “I may have tried to track Robin down on social media…”

Nick rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

“Seriously? You can’t get in touch with her and if you did you can’t say anything about Corm as it would make it seem like he’d been telling you confidential client information. He’d go bananas.”

“Yes, I realise that, and you can calm down because I didn’t find her – nothing at all. I suppose it’s obvious that a former private detective would either not be on social media or would know how to keep it all private. Although Spanner must have…”

“Ilsa stop it,” Nick spoke firmly but his arms were already around her, pulling her in for a hug. He knew how much she cared about their old friend. “You can’t fix this for him.” He pulled back and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Now let’s have this coffee and you can get ready for your lunch date. I’ll pick Logan up as well so you don’t have to rush back.

“Thanks,” she smiled, wondering, not for the first time what she’d done in a previous life to deserve her wonderful husband.

* * *

Robin sat in her car, staring down at the large envelope in her hands and taking a few steadying deep breaths. The envelope contained her draft divorce petition and a covering letter for Kam, asking her to review it and suggest any amendments so it was good to go as soon as they had the full financial picture. She’d also included a proposal for contact arrangements with Matthew, suggesting he came to the house for dinner, bath and bedtime on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and had the children from midday Saturday until 2pm Sundays every other weekend. She was well aware he’d probably find something to object to, but it was a start at least.

The offices of Hale, Warwick and Ellroy were busy, as was usual of a Monday. They covered all manner of legal matters and over the weekend crimes were committed, couples rowed, neighbours had disputes and all of them wanted their issues dealing with. Robin joined the queue of waiting clients behind a man in his late fifties who was incensed at his neighbour’s arbitrary and vigorous clipping of the hedge on the boundary of their two properties and clearly had no intention of moving until he spoke to somebody ‘at the highest level in your litigation department’. The receptionist gave her an apologetic smile as she attempted to calm him down and find someone to speak to him directly.

Robin found her mind drifting to the last time she’d been there. Strike's shocked expression when she’d turned to face him – God knows what her own had been like, she thought. Unable to meet his eye for most of the meeting, she’d kept her focus on his hands throughout, watching his spidery handwriting covering the pages of his notebook and trying desperately not to think of them holding her up outside the Tottenham, feeding her toffees in the Land Rover and doing other things which had only ever occurred in her errant imagination. She felt herself flush, and reached up to loosen her scarf, just as an unfamiliar female voice jolted her out of her daydream.

“Robin?”

She turned to see a woman in her forties, blonde and bespectacled, apparently leaving the offices of one of the solicitors who had accompanied her out into the reception area.

She looked familiar but Robin couldn’t quite place her and stared at her uncomprehending for several seconds.

“Ilsa Herbert,” she smiled, “We met a few times when you were working with my friend…”

“Ilsa, of course,” Robin smiled warmly, whilst quietly wondering to herself if this particular office building was built on a ley line, given that every time she entered, she encountered someone from her past. A sudden, slightly worrying thought occurred to her. “You don’t work here do you?”

“No, I was just meeting my friend Claire for lunch,” she indicated the tall, dark, attractive woman next to her, who Robin noticed was eyeing her with amused curiosity. “We worked at the same firm when we were started out and flat shared for a while, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did. It was great to see you Ils. I need to get back to work, I’ve a client due in fifteen minutes, sorry we had to cut things a bit short.” Claire hugged her friend and kissed her cheek. “Say hi to Corm for me won’t you,” she turned back to Robin, “It was nice to meet you,” and then disappeared back down the corridor.

The man with the hedge problem had finally been shepherded into an armchair and supplied with coffee, biscuits and the promise that a senior partner would be with him in due course, and Robin moved forward and handed her envelope to the receptionist, who assured her that she’d pass it on to Kam Ellroy as soon as she was out of her current meeting.

She turned back to find Ilsa waiting patiently for her, smiling.

“I can’t believe I’ve bumped into you after all this time,” she said, “Have you got time for coffee?”

Robin considered for a few seconds, somewhat wary, before remembering Ilsa’s warmth and kindness in the middle of the Shacklewell Ripper case. She could certainly use some of that right now, and she had a little over an hour to kill before picking the children up.

“Yeah, I have,” she agreed, “It’s lovely to see you again.”

* * *

Anyone seeing the two women chatting over lattes in the Costa on the high street would assume they were friends, in regular contact for years. The conversation flowed easily between them, Ilsa happily sharing with Robin how they’d come to adopt Brooke and Logan - who were biologically half-siblings - at the same time, doubling the size of their family overnight. They’d been in the early stages of the adoption process, when Brooke’s mother, became pregnant with Logan. In her late teens when she’d given birth to her daughter, she’d been unable to cope and gotten into a succession of abusive relationships with violent men, resulting in the removal of Brooke to foster care. Her downward spiral continued and there was no question of her being allowed to keep her second child. Few people were willing to adopt both a young baby with additional needs and a lively four-year old at the same time, but for Nick and Ilsa it had been a no-brainer.

“How’s he doing now?” asked Robin.

“He’s really good. He has foetal alcohol spectrum disorder, but he’s doing really well. There was a lot of intervention while his bio mum was pregnant which perhaps minimised the damage to some extent. He has dyspraxia, learning difficulties, and he had to have a lot of speech and language therapy as a toddler, but having had him with us from an early age we’ve been able to give him a settled home and all the intervention he needs.”

“That’s wonderful,” Robin said softly, feeling a bit tearful. “It was always obvious that you and Nick would be fantastic parents, I’m so happy for you.”

“And you’ve got a couple of children too?” Ilsa asked, forgetting herself for a moment. Robin looked at her suspiciously.

“We’ve got Spanner staying with us and Corm came over at the weekend. He said he’d seen you, nothing else.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing relating to…work,” she said carefully. “I think seeing you again really knocked him for six.”

Robin snorted into her coffee. “I don’t see why it would. He was very happy to never see me again last time we spoke.”

_We’re finished…quick and clean…gross misconduct_

She swallowed the lump in her throat and met Ilsa’s eye. She was watching her, a look of confusion on her face.

“You were the one who didn’t return his calls,” she said slowly.

“What calls? I never heard from him again after he came to the flat to give me my marching orders. I thought he would at least have tried to get in touch once he’d caught Laing and they had Brockbank in custody. He made his feelings very clear.”

Ilsa was stunned. She knew Strike had called and called. She knew about the dash to Yorkshire with Shanker behind the wheel of a stolen car, and the ill-fated call to the Ellacott’s family home whilst she was on her honeymoon. Clearly Robin knew nothing about Strike’s attempts to contact her, or his desire to get her back No wonder she had been cold with him at their meeting. But it really wasn’t her place to say anything…was it?

“I think…” she began, trying to piece together the best way of saying something without actually saying anything, “I think the situation was a bit more complicated from Corm’s perspective than you might realise. I can’t think why you didn’t get his calls, but I know he did try to contact you...several times.”

“Well, it’s all a bit irrelevant now anyway,” Robin glanced at the clock behind the counter and began gathering her belongings, “I need to get going…pick the kids up.” She smiled at Ilsa, “It's been really good seeing you.”

“You too Robin. We’ve so much to catch up on, I’d love to do it again.”

“Me too. Let me give you my number,” she reached into her bag for her mobile. Ilsa did likewise.

“Actually,” she said, “I know it’s soon, but would Friday be any good for you? We could meet up somewhere in town, have lunch. If that works for you, with the kids? Nick’s on lates this week and I only work Tuesday – Thursday.”

Robin thought for a moment. She was torn between the thought that it would be really indulgent, and the burning desire to get to the bottom of what Ilsa had told her about Strike. He’d tried to contact her? When? How? Why hadn’t she gotten his calls?

“That should be fine, but I’d best check the calendar. Can I confirm tomorrow?”

“Sure,” replied Ilsa, reaching to give her an only slightly awkward hug. “Take care Robin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to LulaIsAKitten for lending me her fab OC, Claire Hollis for this chapter.  
> You can read about Claire and Strike shenanigans in Lula's works Disco 2000 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065675/chapters/55170196) , Six Foot Three of Army Toned Muscle (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978015) and The Wedding (https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245646)...enjoy!


	10. Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spanner makes an interesting discovery on one of Matthew's old laptops. Robin's lunch date with Ilsa doesn't go to plan.

Strike was at his desk on Friday morning, trying to resist the temptation of a trip to the fire escape for another cigarette. He’d cut down massively over the years, knowing the possible complications it could cause for his damaged leg. As Nick had pointed out, there wasn’t much point in making an effort with regard to diet and exercise and continuing to fill his lungs with carcinogens.

Strike’s nicotine addiction was longstanding though, his stubborn streak a mile wide. He disliked instructions and expectations, even those that were in his best interests, and he had never quite got on board with completely giving up smoking. It was his go-to bad habit when stressed, and he realised, as he fought to control the urge, that his intake had increased considerably since his meeting at the offices of Hale, Warwick and Ellroy. Today was looking likely to be no exception.

He forced his concentration back to the document he was examining, only to have his focus interrupted just a few minutes later by the entrance of a familiar figure through his office door. Spanner was struggling under the weight of a vaguely familiar black laptop bag and a messenger bag, both hung awkwardly on his right shoulder, due the injury on his left side.

“What the hell are you doing here?” exclaimed Strike, cross at being interrupted and concerned at how his employee had managed to get across London with all that equipment and a broken collarbone.

“Had to come in to show you something,” Spanner panted, as Strike got to his feet and helped him deposit his bags on the large oak desk, “Didn’t want to talk about it at Nick and Ilsa’s, not with the kids around and well, not with them around either, given the client in question.”

It was something to do with Robin he’d uncovered then, thought Strike with an internal sigh. As if his equilibrium wasn’t out of kilter enough already. He reached into his desk drawer and popped a couple of pellets of the nicotine gum he kept in there for emergencies. Spanner noticed and raised his eyebrows, only to be rewarded with a scowl that told him very clearly to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Show me then. Has he been as devious a shit with the finances as we think?”

“No, well, I dunno, I haven’t got that far yet. I was working on the other case and only got onto this last night.” He opened the elderly laptop, fired it up and logged in on the administrator password he’d created. Strike chewed noisily as Spanner’s fingers flicked across the keys, slid over the mousepad and opened a folder on the desktop named  
‘Recovered’.

“Here…oh, no, not that one,” he’d opened another folder within the first, filling the screen with a shot of Robin wearing a summer dress, laughing in the sunshine as she held a toddler upright on her lap, facing her. The small boy was smeared with ice cream and beaming back at her. Strike felt a lurch in his stomach at the tantalisingly brief glimpse into her life, which Spanner shut down almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“Right, it’s these,” he said, clicking on another folder. “Brace yourself.”

Spanner turned the laptop to fully face Strike, so he could scroll through the images himself, and dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk. He watched Strike’s face with some trepidation as his expression moved from surprise to disgust to anger.

“Fuck me…” he uttered hoarsely, shaking his head and moving his hand to click the ‘Properties’ view on the image he was currently looking at. “These dates on the images, that’s definitely when they were taken?”

“Yeah, they’ve been taken off a mobile phone, or a series of mobile phones. There are…” he paused momentarily, “…quite a few more - dating back years.”

“Years? When was the earliest?”

Spanner frowned, thinking.

“The first few were late July/early August 2012. Then nothing until December 2013, nothing again for some time and then from late summer 2016 there seem to be fairly regular additions up until the following autumn when the machine was last used – those are the images you’re looking at. I’ve put them on an encoded memory stick. I’ve only just started on the newer laptop, but there are definitely a lot of poorly hidden images on there so I’m expecting more of the same.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” said Strike again, rubbing his hand across his jaw as he always did when trying to process something. “I need a fag, come with me.”

He pulled the office door shut behind them, locking it as he did so. He already had a cigarette in his hand and matches at the ready by the time they got outside, and he lit up immediately with what Spanner noticed were slightly shaking hands.

“Do we tell her?” he asked, hoping that if Strike were to reply in the affirmative that he would be spared the job of revealing to Robin exactly what he had discovered.

Strike exhaled slowly. “No, there’s no need for her to know about that. It’s not what we were hired for. Make backup copies of everything, catalogue it all as if we were going to use it and let me have it all, in person as soon as you’re done. I’ll keep it in the safe, just in case and we’ll ask to Kam to let us know when the divorce is finalised and destroy it all then.”

“Right.”

“How long do you think it’ll take you to sort out the second laptop?”

“If the files are stored in much the same way, and I get started when I get back…rest of today and maybe Monday? If it’s more complicated, which it might well be given I’ll need to trawl websites for the financial stuff as well, an extra day or two on top of that.”

“When’s Penny back?”

“Tuesday evening. Why?”

“How would you feel about working through the weekend on this? Take a couple of days off in lieu after the job’s done?”

Spanner looked at Strike, who was already lighting a second cigarette from the tip of his first. He didn’t know the backstory of Strike and Robin’s relationship, but he had gleaned enough from previous overheard conversations, and Ilsa’s none too subtle attempt to dispatch him and Nick to the pub the previous weekend, that it went deeper than his boss  
was willing to admit, possibly even to himself.

“Yeah, alright I’ll do it. Have to make sure I lock myself in the shed though…Logan keeps wandering in to go on my X-box,” he grinned.

“Make sure you bloody do,” said Strike sternly. “Thanks though…appreciate it.”

Spanner nodded.

“How did you get here anyway? Please don’t tell me you came on your moped.”

“I’m not that bloody stupid! Bus and tube. I knew you’d want to see what I’d found ASAP and as I said, seemed a bit indiscreet to discuss it from home.”

“Good call, but grab a taxi back yeah? Charge it the office. Right, I’d better get back to work. I’m out this afternoon.”

* * *

Robin peered at her reflection in the mirror as she prepared to leave for her lunch date with Ilsa. Kathy had agreed to pick up both Alex and Edie from school and nursery, and Robin had happily confirmed that she would return the favour by having Harry for a sleepover in a few weeks’ time, so her friend and her husband could celebrate their wedding anniversary child free.

Robin couldn’t remember the last time she’d been into the centre of London on her own. There were frequent days out with the children to museums, and occasional trips with visitors – her mum, sisters in law and her best friend, Katie, but most of her social life, such as it was with two children took place within a five-mile radius of home.

She’d been delighted to bump into Ilsa, but couldn’t help but feel somewhat anxious and a bit…inferior? She wasn’t entirely sure if that was it, but the fact Ilsa had managed to combine raising two children, one of whom had additional needs, with continuing to work as lawyer and still looked amazing and fashionable at ten years Robin’s senior was a little intimidating in itself, even though Ilsa was anything but.

She finished her make-up, brushed her hair and smoothed out the cranberry coloured three-quarter sleeve top that she’d opted to wear, along with skinny indigo jeans and the collarless jacket in soft, black leather that had sat at the back of her wardrobe for years, due to the disapproving looks it had garnered from Matthew. A frisson of rebelliousness ran through her as she shrugged it on and twisted a scarf around her neck. For the first time since she had discovered Matthew’s infidelity, she felt that she might just be beginning to get her life back.

The journey to Piccadilly was a little more long-winded than she’d remembered, and she was running slightly late by the time she arrived at Cicchetti, a small Italian restaurant which was considerably more elegant that Robin had anticipated. She silently cursed herself for wearing jeans as she was greeted by a handsome Italian young man.

“I’m meeting a friend,” she explained, a little breathless from having half jogged from the tube, “Reservation is in the name of Herbert.”

“Oh, yes,” he replied in stilted English, smiling, “Ms Herbert isn’t here yet but your other companion is waiting.”

Robin frowned but followed him through the restaurant, assuming there had been some kind of misunderstanding. He turned right at the end of the bar and indicated a small, marble topped table, behind which a familiar figure sat with their head in their menu, their fingertips lightly clasping a bottle of Peroni.

“I think there’s been a mistake…” said Robin, hastily trying to back away, but it was too late. Hearing her voice and recognising it immediately, Strike looked up and their eyes met.

“I was meant to be meeting Ilsa for lunch,” she stammered. “We bumped into each other…”

Strike’s expression clearly indicated his shock and wariness at the situation they’d found themselves in. All the thoughts he’d been dwelling on following Spanner’s discovery earlier evaporated from his brain as he realised that his best friend had well and truly played him. But where the hell had she bumped into Robin?

“I was also meant to be meeting Ilsa for lunch,” he murmured, sighing with exasperation.

Just then another waiter came along. “We’ve just received a phone call from Ms Herbert…she sends her apologies, but something has come up and she won’t be able to make it.”

Taking in the scene he looked anxiously from his colleague to a resigned Strike to a furious looking Robin. She’d been so looking forward to a girly lunch and catch up with Ilsa, now she felt that she’d been thrown to the wolves, and what a waste of a journey and childcare. She pulled her bag higher up her shoulder, preparing to leave.

“Robin,” Strike was on his feet, his voice soft, “Stay. You’ve come all the way here now…”

The waiters, sensing the tension in the air, had melted away.

She paused, heart thumping in her chest. She hadn’t expected this, didn’t want it. Her life was complicated enough without wandering back down pathways she had no business exploring, and yet…

_You were the one who didn’t return his calls..._

_It was more complicated from his perspective than you might have realised..._

How else would she get the answers that she longed for? She looked at Strike, and although she could remember with pinpoint accuracy ever expression she had ever seen on his face, she couldn’t recall his eyes ever pleading in the way were now. She swallowed hard, nodded and accepted the seat that he was holding out for her.


	11. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin have a bittersweet conversation over lunch.

Strike caught the eye of the original waiter who had returned and was hovering nervously a short distance from their table.

“Another one of these, please,” he said, gesturing to his almost empty bottle, “…and a…large white wine?”

Robin hesitated for moment then nodded. “Thanks.”

“How are you?” Strike asked, at a loss for anything else to break the ice.

Robin raised a sardonic eyebrow in response.

“Yeah, stupid question I suppose.”

“Has your tech guy managed to find anything on the laptops I gave you?”

Strike opened his mouth to speak, then paused momentarily as the waiter reappeared with their drinks.

“He’s only worked on the first one so far and he’s…” Strike considered his words carefully, as the images he’d viewed that morning flashed through his mind’s eye, “…he’s not found anything relating to any financial irregularities.”

Robin nodded and took a sip of her wine.

“So Ilsa got us both here under false pretences then?”

“Seems that way. How did you bump into her after all this time?”

“At the solicitor’s, she was leaving after having lunch with a friend that works there, and I was dropping off some paperwork.”  
Strike’s brow furrowed in puzzlement until realisation dawned.

“Of course, Claire. I’d forgotten she changed jobs a few months ago.”

“You know her?”

“Yeah, well, I did, years back.” He turned his concentration swiftly back to his menu. “Shall we order?”

Strike’s rapid changing of the subject at the mention of Claire did not go unnoticed by Robin who recalled her ‘give my love to Cormoran’ comment as she’d bid Ilsa farewell. Another one of his many glamorous, high-achieving exes then, she thought, bitterly, wishing that she’d left when she’d had the chance. In the few minutes since her arrival the restaurant had filled up considerably, she took a few slow, surreptitious deep breaths, trying to quell the sensation of being slightly trapped.

They ordered. It was a small plates menu, so they opted to share a parmesan and truffle risotto and chilli and lemon broccoli along with Strike’s ribeye steak and Robin’s monkfish wrapped in pancetta.

Strike watched her, nervously circling the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip in the awkward silence that had fallen between them once again. Eventually she looked up, her clear grey-blue gaze meeting his, sending a shock through of something he couldn’t quite put a name to.

“How’s business?”

“Yeah, we’re doing well,” he replied with measured satisfaction, “Bigger offices, more staff, steady income.”

Robin flinched at his use of ‘we’, remembering a conversation they’d had year previously, toward the end of the Shacklewell Ripper case.

_There’s no ‘we’ just now…_

“So, you have a new partner then?”

He looked at her, puzzled for a moment, then realised what he’d said. The pain in her eyes was unmistakeable, although he could tell she was doing her best to put on a brave face.

“No…no new partner, just a turn of phrase, you know. There’s six of us now. Me, three investigators, Spanner – Chris, and our secretary/receptionist.”  
Robin nodded, unable to speak. Relief that he’d never actually replaced her fighting with sadness and longing that she wasn’t part of the business that had, for a while, meant everything to her.

“And you?” he asked. “What are you up to these days?”

“Mum…wife, well soon to be ex-wife. Serves me right I suppose, for going ahead with it knowing he’d cheated on me.”

Strike eyed her warily. The meeting at the solicitors had covered the financial aspect of the divorce proceedings, not the reason for it. He had drawn his own conclusions but didn’t want to voice them aloud.

“Was that…?”

“Yep…and with her…again.”

“The same woman?”

She nodded and drained her glass of wine. Despite her mood the alcohol was sending tendrils of relaxation through her tense body, and she flagged down a waiter and ordered a second. Strike, remembering her limited capacity for drinking, poured a glass of iced water from the jug on the table and pushed it towards her whilst she was waiting for its arrival. Robin ignored it. Strike couldn’t help but wonder if she’d had more practice as a result of being married to the man he though of, more than ever now, as ‘that twat’.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. And he was, sorry to see her in pain, sorry that she was going through the upheaval of a divorce with all the emotional and financial complications it would no doubt involve.

“Like I said,” she replied morosely, “Should never have married him in the first place.”

Strike regarded her quietly, deliberating over the question he so desperately wanted to ask. Fuck it, he thought, at this stage it wasn’t as if he had anything to lose.

“Why did you? Marry him, I mean. I know it’s not easy to walk away from a long-term relationship but…”

“No, it’s not…and the wedding had been paid for and I was afraid of the fallout if I didn’t go through with it, but most of all…”

Her voice cracked and tailed off as she fought - desperately and unsuccessfully - to keep the hot tears that were building behind her eyes from sliding down her cheeks. Strike waited, heart thundering, for her to continue. The waiter returned with her glass of pinot grigio and she took a large gulp, swallowing the lump in her throat along with the wine, before looking back at Strike.

“Most of all,” she continued, “Because when it came to it, Matthew was all I had left, and I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to my bedroom in Masham with my life in pieces again.”

Strike felt her reference to his sacking her like a blow to the solar plexus.

“Robin, I regretted sacking you almost immediately. I was angry and...scared. But it was safer to keep you well out of the picture until Laing was caught. I tried to call you, to let you know what was happening…I wanted you back.”

“That’s what Ilsa said. I never got your calls.”

He frowned at her, baffled. “I tried multiple times, I left messages, I even…”

He stopped short, unsure whether he should tell her about the high-speed journey to Yorkshire on no sleep the morning after he’d caught Donald Laing. A waiter arrived, rearranged their glasses, laid their plates of food on the table, Robin’s eyes on him all the time, quizzical.

“You even what?”

He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the journey, even though the day itself had turned out to be one of the worst of his life. He sighed took a long pull on his beer.

“I even had Shanker ‘borrow’ a car and drive me to Yorkshire.”

“You were at my wedding?” She looked stunned.

“No, I missed your wedding, so we drove to Swinton Park…”

Robin smiled. She shouldn’t be surprised that he remembered her reception venue, much less read anything into it.

“…and as I got out of the car, I saw you on the terrace. You looked…” his jaw twitched as the image of her swathed in shimmering white chiffon, garlands of Yorkshire roses in her tumbling red gold curls filled his mind as if it were yesterday, “…radiant, and happy. I thought you’d moved on. I though it was the right thing to do…letting you go…”

Her cheeks were wet with tears again, but she was smiling now.

“Idiot,” she told him, spooning risotto onto her plate, “I suppose one good thing did come out of it though…well, two really.”

“Your kids?”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine being without them, even if I’d very much like to imagine being without their bloody father right now.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Really?” she knew Strike had never been interested in having children of his own and had a very limited capacity for hearing about other people’s. He grinned at her surprise.

“What can I say, I’ve mellowed in my old age.”

She wondered momentarily what he meant by that. Had he? Surely not? She’d have known, wouldn’t she? He must have seen the fleeting look of consternation, because he chuckled and added swiftly, “Not that much! But I’ve been more involved with my nephews this last few years.”

“You made you peace with Greg then?” Robin was aware of how trying Strike had found his brother-in-law, with his suburban and somewhat materialistic outlook.

“Not exactly,” he replied, chewing a mouthful of steak before continuing, “Greg passed away a couple of years after…the Ripper case. I’d already started spending more time with my middle nephew, Jack, and Lucy needed me so…”

“Wow. Poor Lucy. What happened to Greg?”

“Leukaemia. Absolute bastard of a disease. Anyway, it was tough for a bit, obviously, but the boys are doing fine now, and Lucy remarried last year. Met up with an old school friend in St Mawes whilst visiting Ted and Joan and the rest, as they say, is history. They’re planning to move back down there when her youngest, Oliver, finishes school next year. Adam, the eldest is at university studying engineering, and Jack is off to Sandhurst in a few months.”

Pride in his middle nephew, the one he’d always been closest to, with his childhood ambitions to become a Redcap like his uncle, radiated from Strike.

“Anyway, we were talking about your children…”

“Edie’s three and half and Alex has just turned seven.”

“Seven? You didn’t waste too much time then,” exclaimed Strike, regretting it immediately as a cloud passed briefly, but unmistakeably across Robin’s face. Only Kath knew the truth of Alex’s conception and she had only discovered it after Edie’s subsequent birth, when, in the depths of post-natal depression, Robin had confided in her one evening.

The bickering and bloody rows in the run up to Robin and Matthew’s first wedding anniversary, when she’d been preoccupied with panic attacks and memories of the previous year, the job she’d loved, her confused feelings for Strike, had resulted in her forgetting to take her pills on their anniversary weekend away. Matthew had been unimpressed, then wheedling, telling her they couldn’t not have sex, not on their first anniversary. It was only a couple of missed pills and if she did fall pregnant, why would it matter? They were married, in a bigger house, he was doing well at work…it wasn’t like they weren’t planning to have children anyway?

She’d capitulated, unable to come up with a coherent argument to any of his points without divulging the serious doubts she was having about their marriage and too exhausted from weeks of rows to instigate yet another one. So, she formulated a plan, which never came to fruition. Matthew had found the packet of ‘morning after’ pills the evening following their return from Oxford, and predictably hit the roof. By the following morning he was contrite and had begged her not to take them.

Again, she had found it impossible to argue. She was in a tedious, albeit well paid job that she wouldn’t miss, and she’d always wanted children. The timing wasn’t great but maybe it would help their relationship, and besides, she rationalised, what was the likelihood of her falling pregnant immediately?

But she had, and Matthew had been over the moon, loving and protective, almost to the point of suffocating. Having a new life to focus on had taken the edge off Robin’s panic attacks, and then Alex had arrived, and she’d fallen head over heels in love with her son in a way she’d never realised was possible.

“Sometimes things don’t turn out quite the way you expect,” she replied, with a smile, and continued to tell Strike about the children, who were now the centre of her life.

Strike listened attentively, enjoying how Robin lit up as she spoke about Alex and Edie, laughing at some of her funnier stories. He could envisage the photo that Spanner had briefly opened that morning of Robin, and what he now knew was a two year old Alex, and combined with her obvious joy in her little family, it went some way to assuage the guilt he felt that, had it not been for his sacking her, she might have avoided what had clearly long been an unsatisfactory marriage.

If he’d been successful in getting her back, she might not have had the children she obviously adored, and if…if his other advance had worked out, if she’d only opened the card, she might not have had children at all. Or the need for them might have resulted in him losing her further down the line, even more painfully. Even as he'd placed the order, written his message and sealed the small envelope, he'd not been a hundred percent certain he could give her what he was sure she wanted, that he could be the man she deserved.

 _Or it might have worked_ …said a voice in his head. _This could have been yours._

He shook the thought from his mind. It was nine years down the line. No good could come of entertaining such thoughts now.

* * *

They left the restaurant an hour later, Robin slightly tipsy, Strike lighting up as he walked her back to the tube.

She smiled up at him as they proceeded past the statue of Eros at Piccadilly Circus, barely registering the scene of Matthew’s proposal, her thoughts entirely with the man walking alongside her.

“This feels familiar.”

“Yeah, it does,” he grinned softly back at her, “Appropriate really.”

“Why?”

“Twenty-ninth of March,” he replied, “Ten years today since I nearly killed you on that bloody staircase at Denmark Street.”

She snorted with laughter as they slowly came to a halt outside the Tube station. “Well then, happy anniversary, I guess,” she looked up at him, hesitated for a moment, then in rush of lingering alcohol and sentimentality, stood up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss, butterfly soft on his stubbled cheek.

“I’m glad we got to do this,” he said, aware that his voice was slightly hoarse, and not just because of the cigarette he’d smoked on the short walk from the restaurant. “I suppose I’ll have to forgive Ilsa her interference. So…friends?”

“Friends,” she agreed, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, she was transported back to the front door of Denmark Street…

_“Partners?”_

…and she wondered if he might, just might, kiss her hand like he had then.

“So, I’ll give you a call next week, once Spanner has finished with the second laptop,” he was saying, bringing her back from her daydream.

“Yes, that would be great. I’ll speak to you then.”

“Okay, take care.”

“You too.”

She nodded matter-of-factly and descended into the station, not daring to look back. If she had, she’d have seen Strike watching her until she disappeared from sight, a wistful smile on his uneven lips.


	12. Memory Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kathy and Ilsa quiz Robin and Strike about their unexpected lunch date.  
> The urge to investigate overwhelms Robin.

Kath dropped Alex and Edie off at six o’clock that evening. Her pregnancy was now showing in earnest and she had, mercifully, long passed the stage of morning sickness. As she sat down at the kitchen table and accepted the offer of tea, Robin noticed how well her condition suited her.

“You’re really glowing now, you lucky thing,” exclaimed Robin as she gathered mugs and filled the kettle. From the sitting room came the sound of the television, as the children settled in to watch the CBeebies Bedtime Story.

Kath smiled warmly at the compliment as she cast her eyes over her friend. “And you’re looking happier than I’ve seen you in weeks,” she replied, “I take it you had a good lunch.”

“Yes…a bit surprising, but good, really good actually.”

“You’re blushing, what are you not telling me?”

Robin cursed Kath’s ability to see straight through her. Only one other person had ever been able to do that, and she felt herself blushing even deeper.

“Spill…” urged Kath.

Robin did her best to suppress the grin that was trying to break out. She knew the way she was feeling was ridiculous, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Well, I got to the restaurant to meet up with Ilsa, but she’d basically set me up.”

“What?! A blind date? Organised by someone you haven’t seen in years and barely knew even then? What the actual…?!”

“Not a blind date…not any kind of date. It was Cormoran.”

Robin couldn’t recall ever seeing her friend stunned into silence before, but it appeared there was a first time for everything.

“Bloody hell,” she eventually managed. “What happened, are you seeing him again? Was there…” she gave a salacious grin, “…chemistry?”

“Oh, shut up,” Robin was embarrassed but still beaming. “Nothing happened, I’ll probably see him again about the computer files and…we got on, like we always did. Cleared the air, it was nice.”

“Nice?!” Kath’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her fringe.

“Yes. It was good to catch up and it’s nice that we’re on good terms again. That’s all.”

“Is he with anyone?”

Robin shrugged. “Didn’t ask and he didn’t mention anything. It’s irrelevant anyway, nothing’s going to happen between us.”

“Riiiigght…” Kath took a large sip of tea, eyes twinkling mischievously over the rim of her mug.

“Don’t start. I’ve only just separated and the kids are my priority now and for the forseeable future, end of.”

“Well, that’s probably wise…”

“Yep.”

“But boring,” Kath grinned.

Robin simply rolled her eyes and went to fetch the biscuit tin.

* * *

Ilsa was stirring a large pan of chilli when the doorbell went early that evening. She had a suspicion who the unexpected caller might be even before she heard his voice bellowing down the hall.

“Ilsa Loveday Herbert!”

Sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine, Brooke spluttered on her glass of Pepsi and looked at her mother, wide-eyed and highly amused. Ilsa had, perhaps unsurprisingly, never used her middle name as an adult. Mortifying middle names had been one of the many things she and Strike had bonded over as children in St Mawes, and even he would admit that he probably got the better deal on that front.

“Alright I know I deserved that,” she confronted Strike, hands on hips, “But two can play at that game.”

Brooke was now watching the exchange as if it were a particularly compelling tennis match.

“Go help your brother with his spellings,” instructed Ilsa, turning to the table.

“Really?”

“Yes, go.”

She turned back to Strike, relieved to see that despite his mock anger, his eyes were twinkling.

“It wasn’t a disaster then?”

“You still shouldn’t have interfered.”

“Ah well,” she shrugged, unrepentant, as she turned back to the hob, “Too late now. So how did it go? Did you find out what’s going on with her husband? Are you going to meet up again?”

Nick ambled in from the garden where he’d been rounding up a disgruntled Ossie, who wasn’t allowed out at night.

“What’s occurring?”

Ilsa’s expression was smug. “I organised a ‘blind date’…” she made quotation marks with her fingers, “…for Cormoran today, with Robin.”

Nick raised his eyebrows and glanced from his wife to his best friend, trying to gauge the latter’s reaction.

“Sorry Oggy, I did tell her not to interfere,” he said to Strike apologetically before turning to Ilsa, “I thought you said you couldn’t find her on social media?”

“Ilsa, fucks sake!” grumbled Strike, horrified at the extent of overstepping into his, and Robin’s, respective private lives.

“I didn’t, bumped into her, arranged to meet her for lunch today. Then arranged to meet Corm for lunch, then I just didn’t show up.”

Ilsa’s expression held not even a microscopic hint of regret.

“…and you haven’t answered my questions yet…” she turned to Strike expectantly.

“That’s because you’re a nosy, interfering…”

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon. How did it go.”

“Tense, awkward. She nearly walked out when she realised what you’d done. I’m not sure you’ll be getting a thank you card from her any time soon.”

“But…it must have gone okay in the end. You’re twinkling,” she teased.

“Twinkling my arse! But yeah, we talked, sorted a few things out. One thing I can’t fathom though. She said she never got my messages after the police picked up Laing and Brockbank. Do you think she’s lying? That she just didn’t want to hear from me after what I did?”

_I married him because he was all I had left…_

“She said that to me too, and she didn’t really give anything away but I got the impression she would have welcomed your calls if she’d received them.”

Strike nodded, accepting a cold bottle of beer from Nick.

“So…” Ilsa’s eager expression reminded Strike of a small child waiting their turn at an ice cream van, “…have you made plans to meet up again?”

“Well obviously I’ll see her as soon as Spanner’s finished working on her laptops.”

Ilsa saw a brief flash of worry cross Strike’s face, so fleeting that only someone who’d known him for the best part of forty years would have noticed.

“But otherwise no plans, no. It’s good that we’ve dealt with what happened, it’ll make the case easier to handle if there’s no atmosphere to navigate, but well…”

“Never say never…” encouraged Ilsa.

Strike merely shrugged and took another swig of his beer.

“Right, well I’ve overcooked as usual, you staying for dinner?”

“Now you’re talking!”

* * *

After indulging the children with a later night than usual, DVD and popcorn, Robin tidied up and got ready for bed, but despite the relaxing bath with lavender oil and mug of hot chocolate she lay there restless for well over an hour before falling into a fitful sleep.

She woke again at 3am, curiosity tugging her awake. Ilsa had told her that Strike had tried to contact her after the sacking. Strike himself had said the same, he’d even travelled to Yorkshire on the morning of her wedding to ask her to come back. She had no reason not to believe him, he had nothing to gain from lying about his actions this long after the event. But why would she not have got his messages?

She tossed and turned, fighting the rapidly increasing urge to get up, the desire to investigate and debunk no less strong for nine years out of practice. Eventually she conceded defeat, padded quietly to her kitchen to make a mug of tea, then returned to her bedroom where she went to the large built in wardrobe opposite her bed.

On her hands and knees, she shuffled and rummaged in the bottom of the not insignificant space, and from the back pulled out a large box that had lay, hidden away for years, and took it back to bed.

She smiled as she stroked the glossy cardboard with its deeply embossed black logo before removing the lid. Carefully, she lifted out the tissue wrapped dress that Matthew believed had long since been sold and retrieved a cardboard folder from beneath it.

She emptied the contents on her bed, reminiscing as she perused each item in turn. The pale blue duplicate worksheet from Temporary Solutions, a childish picture of a robin drawn in brightly coloured crayons on scrap paper, a car hire receipt, the scribbled note "Surveillance course....you find it, I'll pay for it", a small notebook and pencil bearing the Hazlitt’s logo, a shiny gold toffee wrapper, a receipt for a cheap navy suit and blouse from a clothes shop in Barrow, a business card for Hardacre & Hall Solicitors, a Jimmy Choo returns docket to the value of £495, a P45 dated late June 2011 and a quantity of old, yellowing newspaper articles which she skim read as she sipped her tea. Finally, she reached under the dress to find the item she really wanted, which had slid down her knees over the duvet.

Robin bit her lip as she looked at the dated, basic android phone in its purple case, and doubtfully pressed the on button. Dead. Of course, she rebuked herself, she was stupid to think it would be anything else after all this time. She inspected the charging port, which appeared to take a chunky, squared off charging cable, the likes of which she hadn’t used for years, and sat for several minutes, chewing her thumbnail, thinking.

Nine years. Was it really worth it? What difference would knowing make now? Perhaps the fact there wasn’t even the tiniest bit of charge left was a sign to leave well alone.

She put the phone in her bedside cabinet drawer, replaced the remaining items in their folder and carefully repacked the box, before sliding it back into it’s hiding place at the back of the wardrobe, returning to bed and turning off her lamp.

But it was no good. Within ten minutes, she was in the study, rummaging through the box of ancient cables ‘that might come in handy one day’ that every household seemed to own. It took a while to locate one that looked like it might be fit, and several more minutes to disentangle it, at which point she noticed a logo embossed into the black, plastic plug that matched the make of the phone. Nauseous with excitement and trepidation, she returned to her bedroom, fitted the cable into the charging port, plugged it in and waited.


	13. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew arrives to take Edie and Alex out for the day and discuss the future of his and Robin's marriage.

Washed, dressed and breakfasted, Robin opened the French doors at the end of the combined kitchen and family room that ran the length of the house and let Alex and Edie out into the garden. It was an unseasonably warm morning for late March, and she couldn’t help but feel that the bright sunshine, burgeoning flower buds and cobwebs sparking with dew were mocking her current state of mind.

She hadn’t slept again after plugging in the ancient mobile at her bedside. Instead she’d lay in the dark, checking every few minutes to see if had regained sufficient charge to be switched on. It took what seemed an interminable length of time, and at one point Robin wondered if she would ever be able to uncover the secrets that the device held, but eventually a firm press on the standby button brought it to life.

She scrolled through her old messages. They’d been deleted and reorganised multiple times before the phone was retired, but she’d kept Strike’s, up until the day before she’d sought out Alisa to tell her about the man she was living with.

There were no voicemail notifications, and no actual voicemails, although whether that had more to do with the time that had elapsed between her last calling the voicemail box she couldn’t be sure. She scrolled through her contacts list and clicked ‘Corm’, having never been able to bring herself to delete his number. She noticed with a tug of irony that it was same number as currently listed on his website. She tapped on the trio of dots that indicated extra functions, and there it was:

> **Unblock contact**

But she’d never blocked him. And no-one else had had access to her phone, which in any case, had a passcode. She racked her brain, unable to place when she might have left her phone unsupervised. They’d had dinner all together at The Bay Horse the night they’d arrived in Masham prior to their wedding. He couldn’t have tampered with her phone without someone seeing. And they’d stayed separately after that, Matt with his Dad, Robin with her family. She hadn’t seen him again until her miserable, dazed procession down the aisle of St Mary the Virgin on Saturday lunchtime, having been involved with beauty treatments and wedding favours on the Friday, whilst he’d been making final arrangements for their honeymoon.

She rubbed her eyes, a dull headache forming behind them, and suddenly an image popped into her mind…the honeymoon. Matthew’s father had called him on her phone on their way to Masham about the honeymoon. She was coming back from the loo at the service station and he’d asked her for her passcode and insisted on taking the call outside. He’d only been a couple of minutes, but still, it was long enough.

Bringing herself back to the present, she finished transferring laundry from washing machine to tumble drier, slamming the latter’s door more vigorously than was really necessary in an attempt to work off at least some of the furious energy that was pumping through her veins. She had to get her feelings under control before Matthew arrived to pick the children up. Just soft play and lunch this weekend, not another overnighter, thought Robin, relieved. She knew she’d have to get used to it at some point, that Alex and Edie would adapt, but she couldn’t shake the anxiety that plagued her whenever Matthew came to collect them. She didn’t doubt his love for his children, but the majority of the parenting had been left to her from the outset, and the thought put her on edge.

Hearing his car pull up on the driveway, she took a couple of steadying breaths, called the children in from the garden and headed to the front door, somewhat surprised not to hear his key in the lock which was his usual mode of entry after the briefest knock. It drove her mad but she’d been advised against having them changed, so she’d instead invested in a lockable filing cabinet for anything she wouldn’t want him to access, and ignored his behaviour.

Today, however, he knocked and waited for her to answer the door. He’d lost weight since moving back to Albury Street and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, but he was still classically handsome in his navy-blue Barbour jacket, England rugby shirt and jeans, clutching a bouquet of white roses which recalled Robin’s wedding bouquet.

She raised both eyebrows at him by way of a greeting and stepped aside to allow him into the spacious hallway.

“Are the kids ready?”

“Not quite…” at that point they were interrupted by Edie hurling herself at her father, not for a hug, but to arrest him, with a pair of plastic handcuffs.

“I am PC Moana and you are under arrest ‘cos you’re a baddie!” she told him firmly, twirling to show off the raffia grass skirt she was wearing over her jumper and leggings, along with a fluorescent police vest and hat.

Robin couldn’t bring herself to meet Matthew’s eye, struggling as she was to not burst out laughing in spite of herself. He bent down to kiss his daughter.

“Perhaps you could arrest me later, sweetheart. I need to talk to Mummy and you need to get changed.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m wearing this.”

Matthew looked down at his daughter, deliberating how to deal with her insubordination. He was not one to back down from an argument, even with a three-year-old.

“Go and play with Alex for a bit and we’ll sort it out later.”

Edie fixed him with a determined look, tugged her police cap down firmly onto her head and marched off to find her brother.

Robin sighed audibly, the brief comic relief provided by her daughter already dissipating in the face of having to converse with her estranged husband.

“What do you want, Matthew?”

“Just to talk, please? These are for you.”

She took the bouquet reluctantly, walked into the kitchen and, seeing the children back out in the garden, pulled the doors to before placing the flowers on the granite topped island, leaning back against it and folding her arms.

“Go on then.”

“There’s no need to be so defensive.”

Robin relaxed her arms, mentally cursing herself for doing as she was told. Her stomach felt tense and liquid at the same time, her heartbeat rapid in her chest with the effort of trying not to lose her cool. God, she just wanted him to leave. Every time she looked at him, she could picture him at the motorway service station nine years previously:

_“Mine’s out of battery…listen, what’s your passcode? I need to look something up for the honeymoon flights - it’s to tell Dad…”_

“Robin? Robin, you’re not having panic attacks again, are you?”

Matthew’s voice brought her back to the present, where she’d obviously not done a good job of hiding the deep breaths she was forcing herself to take.

“No, I’m fine. What were you saying?”

“It’s been weeks now Rob. I can’t keep doing this, it’s breaking my heart…”

She snorted in response.

“I know I was in the wrong. I was weak and stupid but please believe me when I say it wasn’t about me not loving you, it wasn’t malicious.”

“And what about everything you said to me when I found out? Razing the house to the ground, the children? Denigrating my lack of financial contribution, all the other aspersions you cast on me and my behaviour when you were the one who was screwing around?”

Colour was rising in her cheeks, the memory of how he’d talked about her feelings for Strike still vivid in her brain.

“I was angry and ashamed, I’m such an idiot Robin,” tears were filling his eyes, but Robin felt no pity for the man she’d spent her entire adult life with. She wasn’t sure what she felt, indifference, hate, disgust?

“Please Robin,” he continued pleading, “Haven’t you punished me enough? It doesn’t have to be like this, we can still work things out. I’ll do anything, change job, move away, counselling…just tell me what you need from me, it’s your choice…”

Matthew’s final word was as effective as lighting the blue touch paper.

“Choice?” Robin repeated, incredulous. “How _dare_ you talk to me about choice! If you’d respected my right to make my own choices in the first place, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Matthew looked at her uncomprehending.

“Don’t look at me like you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about. The motorway services on the way back to Masham for our wedding. You took my phone away…how could I have been so bloody stupid?”

“What are you talking about?” Matthew tone was shocked, but Robin recognised the way he couldn’t quite meet her eye, the way the tops of his ears reddened when he knew he’d been caught out.

“I’m talking about you deleting Strike’s messages…blocking his calls. You must have been laughing your arse off at me all these years, knowing I’d fallen for it. I bet you never thought I’d find out, just like you didn’t think I’d find out about Sarah, you arrogant tosser!”

She was roaring now, unable to help herself. Beyond the French doors, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alex and Edie playing happily in the garden, oblivious. Matthew’s face tightened, which, Robin thought, gave him the appearance of a particularly repugnant terrier. He knew he had no defence, which only left one alternative.

“Why the fuck does it matter now? What difference would it have made if you’d got his messages?”

“What difference would it have made?” Robin stared at him in disbelief, “I would have kept the job I loved, I would have made a career for myself, and I probably wouldn’t have wasted nine years with a petty, lying, cheating arsehole,” she spat.

“Wasted nine years?” Matthew’s voice was suddenly cool and controlled, and Robin felt her stomach drop. His calm was somehow more terrifying than his aggression.

“Is that how you see it?” he continued, “Don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed everything I’ve worked for…this house, the Audi in the driveway, the holidays…”

“I couldn’t give a toss about all your bloody status symbols, and I loved my Land Rover…I never wanted a poxy Audi in the first place. And the only thing I want from you now is a divorce!”

His eyes travelled over her, his expression sneering. He spoke quietly, ignoring her last statement.

“And what about our kids? Are you including them in the things you’ve wasted time on in the last nine years?”

“Don’t be so fucking ridiculous! I love our children, they’re about the only good thing to have come out of this mess.”

“You’ll miss then when I get 50/50 custody then won’t you?” Matthew smirked nastily.

Robin looked at him, shocked and momentarily horrified, before pulling herself together.

“Don’t be stupid Matthew. I’d never stop you having a relationship with them but I’m their primary carer, you can’t possibly look after them whilst doing your job, and you don’t live anywhere near Alex’s school.”

“Sounds like you’ve already been getting legal advice,” he murmured, “Anyone would think you’ve been stringing me along these last few weeks…”  
  
Robin didn’t reply.

“You’re not the only one that’s been making plans Robin. I’ve had valuations on Albury Street, and I’m up for a promotion at work. The cost of a part-time au pair will be a drop in the ocean on my new salary.”

“And I suppose you’ll be screwing her behind Sarah’s back too, or has she already got bored of your crap and scuttled back to Tom?”  
  
Matthew gave a short, nasty laugh, and headed for the French doors.

“Alex…Edie, come on, we need to be making a move.”

Both children ran across the lawn. Edie was still wearing her fluorescent vest and grass skirt and Robin saw Matthew just stifle his look of disapproval. “Coats on, let’s go.”

“You’ll have them back at two?” Robin confirmed, as they followed the children out into the hallway where Alex was helping Edie with her jacket.  
  
Matthew didn’t respond as he ushered the children into the car. He pulled smoothly off the driveway and powered down his window, turning to children in the back seat.

”Say goodbye to Mummy..."

* * *

Two o’clock came and went, then two-fifteen. The soft play centre was only three and half miles away but Robin had no idea where Matthew had taken the children for lunch. She made a coffee and sat to drink it at the kitchen table, her foot tapping restlessly against the table leg. She tried not to think of the way he'd looked at her as he'd driven away that morning, his tone of voice...

_You’re being irrational…it’s a sunny Saturday afternoon, the roads will be busy, give it another fifteen minutes…_

At half past, Robin picked up her mobile and tapped out a text. It pained her to formulate it, but she figured conciliatory would be the best way to go.

> **Hope you’ve had a good time. Are you en route? R**

Another fifteen minutes passed. Matthew was now three-quarters of an hour late back. Shaking slightly, Robin dialled his mobile number. She tried to avoid calling when she knew he was likely to be driving, but he had hands-free, it might be easier than a text, she rationalised.

Matthew’s phone went straight to voicemail.

> **Matthew. Call me and let me know where you are and that you and the kids are safe.**

Five minutes passed, she tried again, and again, and again. No answer, no call.

By three-fifteen, Robin had left half a dozen increasingly frantic messages. Her coffee sat untouched on the table as she Googled the number of the nearest hospital emergency departments.

_Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, she told herself, crossing her fingers._

She rummaged in a drawer for her address book, flicking through the numbers of mutual friends with children a similar age. She knew he wouldn’t thank her for calling them, to alerting other people to that fact that all was not well in the Cunliffe household. She wasn’t even sure if he’d told any of his friends that he was living elsewhere. Still, half an hour later she found herself working her way methodically through them all. No one had seen or heard from him.

Sobbing, she scrolled through her mobile with trembling fingers, desperate to talk to someone. She couldn’t call Kath, she had family staying this weekend. Katie, her best friend from Masham was too far away to be of any real help, and her closest friends from book club were away on a romantic city break having just got engaged. There were school mums, but she wasn’t close friends with any of them. Several were high-flying career mums, and the remainder tended to be ‘ladies who lunch’ or woke hippy types. It was almost four o’clock, and in desperation, Robin hit the number of the one person remaining to her that was close enough and sensible enough to be of any help.

“Ilsa? It’s Robin Cunliffe…Ellacott…”

“Robin? What’s the matter? This isn’t about yesterday? I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no yesterday was fine. It’s Matthew…he’s taken the kids out and they were supposed to be back at two. I can’t…I can’t….” she broke down completely, unable to continue.

In Octavia Street, Ilsa’s blood ran cold.

“Robin…Robin…deep breath. Are you saying you think he might have deliberately failed to return your children?”

Robin sniffed loudly at the other end of the line.

“I don’t know what to think, I’ve called and texted but he’s not answering or calling…hang on…oh thank God!”

Matthew’s car had pulled up on the drive. Alex was tumbling out of one back door, while Matthew stood at the other, helping Edie out of her car seat.

“Ilsa, they’re here. I have to go. I’ll call you back.”

She splashed her face quickly with cold water, dried it hastily on a tea towel and headed to the front door, just as her children burst through it, beaming, both carrying enormous cardboard boxes and new cuddly toys.

“This is PC Pinky,” stated Edie, thrusting a lurid sparkly pink bear, resplendent in police uniform complete with a tiny helmet, at her mother.

“Lovely,” exclaimed Robin, crouching down to hug both her children tightly. For a moment, she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to release them. She was aware of Matthew watching the scene from the doorstep, a malevolently smug look on his face.

“Muuum” complained Alex good-naturedly, disentangling himself.

“Who’s this?” she asked indicating the black and white stuffed dog her son was carrying. It was dressed in pale blue scrubs. “Is this Doctor Puppy?” She gave him a watery smile.

“No, he’s a vet like grandpa,” replied Alex, looking at Robin properly for the first time since arriving home. “Are you okay Mum? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine,” said Robin, straightening up to her full height and looking Matthew directly in the eye. “I’m just allergic to those flowers, they’ll have to go in the bin. I’ll call you about Tuesday evening, Matt.”

And with that, she shut the door firmly in his face, and locked it.

In the kitchen, her mobile bleeped with an incoming text message.

> **Don’t worry about calling me back. Text me your address, I’ll be over at 8 with wine and ice cream. No arguments. Ilsa x**


	14. Trapped?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A terrified Robin has doubts about divorcing Matthew, who is already scheming.  
> Ilsa is on hand as adviser, supporter and provider of wine and ice cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptions of domestic (emotional) abuse and coercive control, so please skip if this is a trigger for you. Useful links at the end x

It took precisely thirty seconds after opening the door to Ilsa for Robin to break down. Aware of the children sleeping upstairs, she allowed Ilsa to steer her through to the sitting room and close the door firmly behind them.

Ilsa sat down next to her on the sofa and held her as she sobbed and sobbed until eventually, with a series of shuddering gasps and sniffs she raised her head from Ilsa’s damp shoulder and accepted a tissue. When she finally looked at Ilsa, her face was blotched with white and pink, her eyes red-rimmed and their expression utterly defeated.

“I can’t do it.” Robin’s voice was barely audible and silent tears slid down her cheeks now.

Ilsa looked at her, confused.

“What do you mean, you can’t do it?”

“I’m going to have to take him back, try and make it work somehow.”

Ilsa’s expression changed from one of confusion to abject horror.

“Are you saying you want to stay with Matthew?”

Robin snorted. “Of course I don’t bloody want to, but what choice to I have? I can’t go through another day like today, I can’t keep putting the children in that position. I did my best to hold it together, but Alex definitely knew something was wrong, and Edie was crabby and wouldn’t settle. They may be kids but they’re not stupid.”

“Well obviously they’re not, they’ve got your genes,” smiled Ilsa, making Robin laugh momentarily.

“I must have been fairly stupid to marry the bugger in the first place,” she began to cry again in earnest. “I knew even then, and I kept thinking, hoping, that if only…” she paused, suddenly remembering who she was talking to, and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late Robin. I know Matthew’s been difficult today, but you said you’d had a row before he left. What he did is reprehensible, but it may have been a knee jerk reaction. Once he’s accepted the situation, he’ll hopefully be more reasonable.”

Even as she spoke, Ilsa knew she was sugar-coating. Five years at law school and twenty-two years in the business had given her an uncanny ability to read people, and even though she knew little about Matthew Cunliffe, she’d already begun to draw her own conclusions.

She asked Robin where the wine glasses were and went to pour them large glasses of sauvignon blanc rosé whilst Robin checked on Alex and Edie and splashed her face with cold water. She accepted the glass gratefully as she curled her feet up beside her on the sofa.

“Robin…” Ilsa began, hesitantly, “Honestly, if it were an uncomplicated choice, would you rather try and work things out with Matthew, or go ahead with the divorce?” She knew what she thought was the right thing, but it wasn’t her call, and she had to be sure before she dug any further and tried to confirm her suspicions.

Robin took a deep breath. “I wish he would just accept it’s over. He’s obviously no happier than I am, but he won’t let go. He’d rather maintain his family man image and status and money than be free to do what he wants. Although I suppose he’s managed to do both under my nose. He’ll fight – he’s told me as much, and financially he’s much better equipped to do that than me. And if his dad backs him up as well. Even if I ‘won’, he would probably bankrupt me in the process, and I’m not bothered about the money – I’m really not, but I need to be able to provide for the kids. I don’t want them having to go without because I’ve made poor choices. I could end up in a position where I’m struggling financially and all to only have Alex and Edie with me fifty percent of the time and I’ll have to work full time which will mean I see even less of them.”

Isla looked incredulous.

“What on _earth_ makes you think Matthew would get a fifty/fifty custody arrangement? He doesn’t live within sensible travelling distance of Alex’s school, and he’s got a demanding full-time job that involves regular business trips at short notice, hasn’t he? That’s not even considering the fact you’ve been their primary caregiver since birth/”

“That’s what he’s said. He’s planning to sell the house on Albury Street, move over this way and get an au pair.”

Ilsa made a very rude noise in response. Her eyes narrowed.

“What else has Matthew been saying to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Robin, you’re a smart woman. You must know logically that Matthew is unlikely to be able to achieve what he’s suggesting regarding the children. And you’re a brave woman, yet you seem genuinely…afraid of his threats.”

Robin didn’t answer, but turned her attention back to her wine glass, tracing the etched pattern on the side with a bitten fingernail. Ilsa opened her bag and pulled out a small booklet.

“Robin, please don’t be offended by this, and I apologise if I’m barking up the wrong tree, but just have a look and see if you recognise any of these behaviours.” She passed the booklet to Robin, and when she didn’t kick her out, she added, getting to her feet, “I’ll go and get the ice cream shall I?”

* * *

On the other side of London, Matthew Cunliffe sat spread-eagled on his Ikea sofa, reliving the afternoon’s events with satisfaction. If she thought she was going to divorce him, take his children and half his money, she had another thing coming.

The money was safe, of course, the bulk of it anyway, he’d get away with giving her the bare minimum, and if he could get 50/50 custody it would reduce the amount of maintenance further. It had been easy to convince her to let him take over the household finances after Edie was born, she’d barely been in a fit state to look after herself and the kids, had it not been for the arrival of Linda. He made a mental note to add that to his list of ‘ammunition’. And she’d always made it clear that she was bored rigid by his work, which had made that side of things much easier. He’d got so used to her glazing over in the early days of their marriage when he talked about his job, that he’d given up mentioning it, even used that in his favour.

_“How’s work been today?”_

_“Oh darling, I don’t want to bore you with that…what have **you** been up to?”_

It had been worth listening to the tedious tales of rhyme time and soft play and other people’s kids in order to keep his activities well off her radar, and of course it bought him brownie points that could always be exchanged for other favours, not that that had been a priority for him unless more exciting options were unavailable.

He didn’t want a divorce. It was too easy having a wife at home. His image of the provider for his pretty wife and adorable children went down well at his rather traditional workplace, and he enjoyed the doting attention it garnered from his Auntie Sue, the camaraderie with his father and the slight jealousy that his sister Kimberley tried – and failed – to hide. It seemed to make him strangely more, rather than less, appealing to young women too, which was a bonus.

If he couldn’t talk her out of divorce proceedings, he would have to fight fire with fire. He took a deep breath and shuddered slightly, trying to focus his mind on what Robin had said this morning and how he might use it to his advantage. The comment about the waste of nine years was the first thing that popped into his head, but then he remembered how the subject had arisen. He’d given surprisingly little thought to Cormoran Strike and the phone call at the service station throughout the day, first occupied with Alex and Edie, then basking in the distress he’d caused Robin by arriving back so late and not returning her calls. Hopefully that would make her think twice.

But now the spectre of the large, ugly bastard that had threatened his marriage all those years ago loomed large in his imagination. How the hell had she found out about the phone calls? Why on earth did she still have that bloody phone? He knew she’d kept some mementos from the job initially, but when they moved from Hastings Road to Albury Street he’d cleared their wardrobe and packed them in a box in the back of the Land Rover to be taken down the tip…or so he thought. And why would it have occurred to her to check after all this time, unless…

No. She couldn’t be back in touch with Strike? He’d know, wouldn’t he?

A movement below him brought his thoughts back to the present. Sarah looked up from her fruitless ministrations with a wry expression.

“I know you’ve had a trying day, but I’m getting lockjaw down here…fancy trying something else?”

She made to get to her feet, but Matthew stopped her with brusque ‘stay there’ and altered his own position instead. In his current frame of mind, he had no desire to have to think about or make eye contact with the woman he was fucking.

* * *

Robin barely registered the sound of Ilsa pottering around the kitchen as she skim read the pink and white booklet. Her brain was too busy trying to process what she was reading. She knew that Matthew was difficult and liked getting his own way, that he could be sulky when he didn’t, vicious when they argued. She knew that she’d spent much of their marriage, and some time on and off beforehand, feeling like she was walking on eggshells, but what Ilsa was suggesting…

No. Just no. She may not have the degree as evidence of her intelligence, she may have given up her independence to be a stay-at-home wife and mother, but she wasn’t that kind of woman. She wasn’t so daft that she couldn’t recognise domestic abuse, so weak that she couldn’t stand up for herself. Was she?

She read the page entitled ‘Recognising Domestic Abuse’ which comprised a list of behaviours to look out for.

_**Destructive Criticism and verbal abuse** …mocking…verbally threatening…_

_**Pressure tactics** …sulking…taking the children away…_

_**Disrespect** …putting you down in front of other people…not listening to you…_

_**Breaking trust** …lying…withholding information…having other relationships…_

_**Isolation** …deleting messages…blocking your phone calls…disapproving of, and making it difficult for you to see friends…_

_**Gaslighting** …making you question your own judgement or sanity…_

_**Physical intimidation** …aggressive behaviour such as slamming doors, throwing things…damaging your possessions…preventing you from walking away by blocking your path…_

_**Denial** …saying you wind him up, crying and begging for forgiveness, always being the ‘good guy’ in front of other people…_

_Checking up on you…making it difficult or impossible for you to achieve academic/career aims…having sex with you when you don’t want to (she skipped quickly over that one, after all she’d never told him when she didn’t want sex, just gone along with it for the sake of a quiet life, he’d never forced her…)_

Robin’s body was suddenly covered in goose bumps. She emptied what was left of the wine into her glass and slugged it back in one, forcing down the bile that was rising in her throat.

She turned to the back of the booklet.

**_Am I in an abusive relationship?_ **

_Everyone has arguments and disagreements…but if this begins to form a consistent pattern then it is an indication of domestic abuse and/or violence. The answers to the following questions may help you…_

Robin scanned the list of eighteen questions, wondering vaguely how many ‘yes’ answers would be needed to confirm an abusive relationship. She counted eight, and a further two or three grey areas before reading the final line on the page.

_If you answered yes to one or more of the above questions, this indicates that you may be experiencing domestic abuse._

Fuck. How could she have been so…

Ilsa saw the dawning realisation on Robin’s face as she raised her head to watch her entering the room with two bowls of ice cream and a second bottle of wine, which she placed on the coffee table.

“You’re not stupid,” she said softly, as if she was reading her thoughts, “…and you’re not weak.”

“I suppose that makes me a victim,” spat Robin angrily, “…again.”

She saw confusion cross Ilsa’s face.

“What?”

“University…the reason I dropped out, Cormoran must have…”

“Corm has never mentioned to us why you dropped out.”

“Oh.” No, of course he wouldn’t have. Robin felt tears welling again.

“You’re not a victim, this happens to plenty of strong, intelligent women. After we adopted Brooke and Logan I decided I didn’t want to work in the criminal defence sector anymore. I’d learned a fair bit about domestic abuse via the courses we did to prepare us for adoption, and decided I wanted to help vulnerable women to get out of their situations and protect and keep their children. I’ve been working for a domestic abuse charity as a legal advocate ever since.”

Robin still looked doubtful.

“I can’t believe it. He wasn’t all bad. We had some good times too. And when we didn’t, well, I just always thought if only I could get past the fact that my life hadn’t turned out like a planned, make more effort to be the kind of wife he wanted, that it might work out. Whenever we got past a bad patch, I kept thinking this is it…we’ll be alright now. But then there would be another, and they’d be worse, and they’d happen more often. I suggested counselling a few times. He said it would be throwing money down the drain. That if I didn’t press his buttons so much, we wouldn’t have a problem…” she paused, "I hate thinking that I didn't see through him, that I had the children with him and put them in this situation. It feel's like my fault."

“Robin,” Ilsa said gently, “The first case I supported was that of an incredibly successful, highly intelligent, courageous, well-respected woman. She was an award-winning investigative journalist - beautiful home, gorgeous kids, apparently adoring husband. It was only when her eldest child started to become aware of what was really going on behind closed doors that she realised the potential impact and began making plans to leave, although even at that point she was unsure whether she would be able to bring herself to go through with them. She went to the pastoral team at the kids’ school to ask if they could put some support in place, and when they’d spoken to her child individually, they invited her back in, alone. The pastoral manager told her very gently that what the child was witnessing at home was worrying enough that, were she not already making plans to leave, they would be considering making a referral to child protection services. There was absolutely nothing physical going on at all.”

“What happened?”

“She got herself an SHL…”

“A what?!”

“Shit hot lawyer,” grinned Ilsa, “…and braced herself for an epic battle. He was angry at first, then upset and apologetic, insisting he’d change. When she filed for divorce he went from promising all sorts to making threats, horrible solicitor’s letters, delaying sending back paperwork, that kind of thing. He got very shirty when the subject of finances came up. It took over a year, and it was hard, but ultimately not as awful as she thought, and much better than spending another forty years with him. She’s now got a new partner a few years younger who treats her like a goddess, and the eldest child, who the pastoral manager was so worried about, got exemplary exam results and is now happily settled in their first year at Cambridge. She got her happy ending…you can too Robin. You’re not trapped, you are brave and strong - I know you are. And you’ve got good people on your side. You can do this.”

Robin was crying again, but smiling too, and silently thanking the universe for sending Ilsa back into her life.

“Yes,” she replied, reaching for her bowl of somewhat runny chocolate ice cream. “Yes, I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think you are in a domestic abuse situation, it is not your fault. You are not stupid or weak or a victim, and you can get help and regain your Freedom. The links below are a good place to start if you have any concerns about your own situation or that of a friend or loved one.
> 
> https://www.womensaid.org.uk/
> 
> https://www.refuge.org.uk/
> 
> https://www.freedomprogramme.co.uk/
> 
> https://rightsofwomen.org.uk/


	15. The Second Laptop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike spends the weekend following his unexpected lunch date with Robin reminiscing and trying to wrangle his feelings.  
> A late night visit from Spanner results in further revelations about the depths of Matthew's duplicity.

Strike had made his way home from Nick and Ilsa’s on Friday night with an unusually comfortable feeling that everything was right with his world. He tried not to chalk the sensation up to the fact that Robin was once again in it and spent much of Saturday going about his usual weekend chores whilst battling with his errant thoughts.

The lunch on Friday, which had begun on a horribly awkward footing, had mellowed over food and drink into a warm, funny and enjoyable catch up, and his mind kept flitting between the time they’d spent in Cichetti, and the many pub lunches and trips to the Tottenham they’d enjoyed during their time working together. He had a great team now, but no-one had ever quite managed to fill Robin’s shoes. Hutchins and Barclay were good mates, and Gaby Sullivan, the former MET detective he’d taken on a couple of years previously was a brilliant addition to the team. Rightly or wrongly, the mere fact of her being female made it easier to get some people on side, but whilst she was excellent at her job, she somehow lacked Robin’s natural approachability and empathy that had made people open up to her and frequently disclose useful information without even realising it.

He did his best to focus only on Robin’s detective skills as he made his way around the supermarket. Her organisational abilities and all the other practical attributes he had missed so much in the office in the early days after they had parted company. Still his wayward mind’s eye kept picturing her sitting her sitting opposite him at the restaurant. The deep red top she’d been wearing should have clashed with her strawberry blonde hair, but somehow instead it made it glow even more under the gentle ambient lighting. Her eyes, at first angry, then wary had eventually begun to twinkle as time and alcohol took its effect, reminding him of the sea back in his childhood home of St Mawes, and when she’d reached up on tiptoe to kiss him outside the tube station…

He’d had to steady her briefly as she'd wobbled in her heels on the uneven pavement, and the familiar scent of her and the feeling of her waist beneath his hand had brought back a flood of memories of the night he’d steered her to Hazlitt’s in the wake of her discovery of Matthew’s first infidelity. He had too much respect and genuine affection for Robin to take advantage of the situation, but he’d imagined countless times since taking her there in difference circumstances, and how things might have panned out differently at the cheap motel in Barrow, had he been a different kind of man, and Robin a different kind of woman.

When he got back to his flat and started unpacking his groceries, he realised he’d picked up Yorkshire Tea rather than his usual brand, and his usual Doom Bar had been joined by a 4-pack of Masham-brewed Theakston’s and a bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc, just in case…

_Just in case what? Don’t be a stupid fucker Strike…_

He made lunch, watched the match, dozed on the sofa only to wake up with the slightly uncomfortable feeling that he’d dreamt about Robin, even though he was unable to recall any specifics. Saturday evening stretched ahead of him, devoid of plans or company, something he would normally relish after a busy week at work. He picked up his mobile and toyed with the idea of calling Ciara and offering to make up for his recent no-show. They’d got together in similar circumstances, on both sides, many times over the years, and God knows he could use the distraction, but somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to press the button. Instead he continued scrolling…

“Hi Uncle Ted…how’s things?”

He spent an hour catching up with his aunt and uncle, popped out for a Chinese takeaway, called Lucy and invited himself for Sunday lunch before logging onto his computer and beginning to research the mark that he was due to start tailing the following week.

Sunday saw him longing for Robin’s work skills again as he headed to St Monica’s, a care home for elderly people suffering with dementia. The manager, Brenda James, had come to ask him about surveillance cameras the previous week, explaining that whilst she dealt with the care of the patients, associated medical staff, families and day-to-day running of the place, the home’s owner, a self-made millionaire by the name of Diggory Cook, retained control of finance, HR and recruitment.

Brenda had realised shortly after her appointment some three years previously that Cook had a penchant for affairs with much younger women who he frequently offered jobs at the home, the better for ease of assignations, and, she suspected, keeping them in line with the threat of losing their job. Reluctant to get involved in something that crossed over with her boss’s personal life, Brenda had chosen to turn a blind eye so long as the young women in question were doing their jobs, and it had proved a successful tactic, until recently.

Several families had complained that they felt the level of care their relatives were receiving was slipping, and both staff and patients had reported cash and other items going missing. Brenda had checked the file of Cook’s latest girlfriend and discovered that, unlike previous employees, she hadn’t been subjected to the usual rigorous safeguarding checks that were a prerequisite to employment at the home.

“I’ve handed my notice in,” she explained to Strike, tears welling in her eyes, “I love the job and the families, but I can’t work in that environment anymore. I leave in six weeks, but I can’t walk away in good conscience without trying to get to the bottom of what’s happening. If we can get sufficient evidence, I can report him to the CQC* and ensure the safety of my patients before I leave.”

So, Sunday morning found Strike heading to Dulwich to plant surveillance cameras in the rooms of three of the patients whose relatives had raised concerns. They had all been brought in on the plan (albeit not the full back story) and signed paperwork consenting to installation of the cameras. As an additional safeguard, Strike had requested that a family member was present for each installation, along with Brenda.

It was for this reason that his mind drifted back to Robin, and thoughts of how much more reassuring a presence she would be in such circumstances. As he adjusted his wing mirror, which had taken gentle knock from a passing pedestrian overnight, his mind instantly leapt to another of Robin’s skills. He’d had nine years to stop imagining he could smell her perfume lingering in the office, cursing his various colleague’s tea making skills and inability to remember his favourite biscuits, but by God, he still missed her driving.

She was the first and only person he’d been comfortable with behind the wheel of a car after he’d lost his leg, and no-one else since had come close. He’d paid for all three of his investigators to do advanced driving courses, but the trip to Barrow was forever etched on his brain. As far as car journeys went, Robin had permanently ruined him for any other driver.

The job gave him focus and he somehow managed to make the required small talk with the relatives involved as he fixed the tiny cameras and microphones into smoke alarms and plug-in night lights. By the time he headed to Lucy’s, he felt exhausted though, and simultaneously a profound sense of relief that Ted and Joan hadn’t as yet succumbed to such maladies.

Lunch with Lucy and her family was a pleasantly relaxed affair these days. Joe gave her the security she craved but had a much more down to earth outlook that Greg, which Strike had warmed to instantly. They chatted about plans for the house in St Mawes, where the family would be spending the Easter break. Ted and Joan had recently moved into a complex of warden assisted, self-contained flats nearby, the lovely house in which Lucy and Strike had spent much of their childhood having become a little too much for them to easily maintain. Lucy and Strike were covering the modest mortgage on the flat between them until the following year when, once her youngest finished his GCSEs, she and Joe would sell the house in Bromley and buy Ted and Joan out. In the meantime, they were visiting as often as possible to check up on her aunt and uncle and bring the house up to date, a project Joe, being a master carpenter, was thoroughly enjoying.

There was much discussion of Jack beginning his military career, and some assistance with Oliver’s history homework before Strike finally made his excuses and began gathering himself to leave.

“It’s been lovely Stick,” smiled Lucy, hugging him in the doorway. She hesitated for a moment, knowing that even now, when they had become so much closer, he was still resistant to probing into his personal life, “Are you okay though?”

He frowned at her. “What do you mean? Of course I’m okay.”

“Good,” she nodded, “Good. It’s just…you seem a little bit elsewhere today. Even when Jack was chatting to you about Sandhurst you seemed to be, I don’t know, drifting a bit.”

He sighed, and for a split second deliberated telling Lucy about recent events. They were so much closer after all, and she was so much more relaxed these days. But still…

“I’m fine, honestly,” he reassured her, “Just work stuff…” he saw a hint of fear cross her face, “Nothing dangerous, don’t worry. Just a nice client being taken for a ride by a total dickhead and I’m waiting to hear if we’ve got what we need to sort them out.”

Lucy gave him an up and down glance, full of amused suspicion.

“It’s not like you to be unable to compartmentalise work stuff…this client, pretty is she?”

“Luce…”

“Just asking.”

“Well don’t. Thanks again for a lovely dinner. I’ll call you in the week.”

“Okay Stick. You take care…and behave yourself,” she teased as she closed the door behind him.

* * *

Several hours later that evening, Strike collapsed into a chair and gratefully relieved himself of his prosthesis after an hour on his feet doing his ironing for the following week. Standing in one spot for any length of time did his partial leg no favours, but he just couldn’t bring himself to outsource such jobs, even though he was now well able to afford it. Years of military discipline had instilled in him a sense of personal responsibility that he retained even twelve years after his discharge.

He had just flicked the top of a bottle of Theakston’s and settled in for a rewatch of Fight Club on Film Four when his phone beeped with a text alert. Naturally, he’d left it on the bookshelf on the other side of the room and concluding that it couldn’t be that important if it was a text rather than a call, he chose to ignore it.

Three minutes later, it started ringing.

“Bollocks!” he grunted, staring balefully at his prosthesis leaning against the sofa. He hefted himself upright and hopped precariously to the bookshelf, seizing the phone and flicking the green icon just in the nick of time, with a combined sense of relief and anxiety as he saw the name of the caller.

“Spanner, what can I do for you at this time on a Sunday night?”

It was gone ten o’clock.

“I’ve finished with the laptops and mobiles…”

“Already?”

“Yeah, don’t ask, my blood type is 99% espresso right now. Anyway, there was a lot of useful financial info on there once I dug far enough, and some more photos and video footage.”

Strike felt a prickle at the nape of his neck.

“If you’re that full of espresso you’re not going to be sleeping any time soon are you? Fancy getting in a cab now?”

“Give me ten to get my shit together and I’ll grab an Uber.”

“Great, see you soon.”

Ilsa and Nick looked up from the sofa as Spanner passed the doorway.

“Where are you off to?” Nick enquired. Spanner was not the most sociable bloke at the best of times, much less late on a Sunday evening, when he could usually be found wringing every last minute of gaming time out of the weekend prior to work on Monday.

He popped his head round the door. “Work thing, Uber’s outside…don’t wait up.”

As he turned away Ilsa saw a familiar laptop bag hanging over his shoulder and felt her stomach lurch.

* * *

Strike, having reattached his prosthesis, was already opening the front door to his flat as Spanner made his way up the path. The Uber remained in situ behind him.

“Great,” he greeted Spanner, “Thanks for dropping those off. Same password as the other day?”

“Yeah, but it’s alright, I’ll come in and talk you through what I’ve found out.”

“No need, just tell me where to find the stuff, I’ll have a look and we can talk about it tomorrow.”

Spanner remained on the doorstep, clearly reluctant to take his leave. He had never know the extent of Strike's feelings for Robin, but even in the last week it had become glaringly obvious to him that there was something distinctly over the boundaries of professional hanging in the air where she was concerned.

“Look boss, the stuff I’ve found, it ain’t pretty to be honest, and I’m not sure I trust you to look at it unsupervised and not immediately head out to hunt down Cunliffe and knock the living shit out of him.”

Strike snorted. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’d thought about it, but I think you’ll find I have quite impressive levels of self-restraint.”

Spanner raised his eyebrows, not moving. Strike, even having seen the first lot of photos, suddenly began to worry exactly what he’d found. He frowned and huffed, before conceding defeat.

“You’d better come in then,” he said, stepping aside as Spanner waved the car away, “Go on through,” he indicated the sitting room as he headed off to a grab a couple of beers.  
By the time he got back, Spanner was already booting up the laptop and he eyed the bottles in Strike’s hand.

“Cheers, although I warn you, you might need something stronger in a minute.”

Christ, what the fuck had he found?

“Start with the financials,” instructed Strike, “That’s what the client’s asked for, then we’ll deal with whatever else you’ve come across.”

Spanner did as instructed, laying before Strike an electronic paper trail of Matthew Cunliffe’s financial dealings over the previous five or six years and explaining the financial implications for Robin. There was no doubt, mused Strike, that Cunliffe was a clever bastard. In other circumstances he may have had a certain amount of grudging admiration for his skills, if not the way he used them.

“I sent some of the stuff to an old uni mate of mine…don’t worry I blanked the personal details out…she’s a forensic accountant. She says it all checks out. He’s done nothing illegal of course, but the amount he’s hiding from Robin runs well into seven-figure territory, even when you half it to take into account his partner.”  
Strike exhaled as he shook his head. “Well, that’s the job we’re being paid for done then. What about the other stuff…more of the same kind of thing you found on the other laptop?”

“Kind of,” replied Spanner, “…but, well, worse. There’s no need for you to look at it really. It’s pretty grim viewing but again, as far as I can tell, not illegal.”

Strike felt his heart rate quicken.

“You sure?”  
  
“Ninety-nine percent.”

“Pass it over,” he sighed. He knew he’d never rest without knowing exactly what it was.

Spanner watched nervously as Strike clicked on the relevant folder and began scrolling. He’d meant what he said about worrying that he’d go after Cunliffe, and despite insisting on staying, he doubted he’d be able to restrain his boss, even with a two-leg advantage.

Strike’s left hand was balled into a fist now, the colour all but drained from his face, his breathing heavy and - no - Spanner convinced himself he must be imagining what appeared to be angry tears in Strike’s eyes.

“You okay, Fed?” He resorted his old nickname, this somehow didn’t feel like a ‘Boss’ moment anymore.

Strike slammed the laptop lid shut, crossed the room to his drinks cabinet in a couple of strides, poured three fingers of Scotch into glass and knocked it back in a single gulp. He rubbed both hands across his face before emerging to look at Spanner.

“I’m fine. This is really good work. Have you backed it all up onto a memory stick like the last lot? Have you got it with you?”

Spanner nodded. Rummaging in the side of the laptop bag and handing the memory stick over.

“Right, same as before. I’ll keep this in the safe. Wipe everything but the financial stuff. There’s no need for the client to see this, but we’ll hang onto it while the divorce is going through, just in case anything unexpected crops up. And it goes it without saying, this stays between you and me. I mean it, not a word to Nick, Ilsa or even anyone else in the office. It goes no further do you understand me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Do you want a whisky while you wait for a cab home?” He poured himself another, more liberal measure as he spoke.

Spanner shook his head. Adrenaline and caffeine supplies exhausted, all he wanted now was his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CQC - Care Quality Commission - the independent regulator of health and social care services in England


	16. Let Battle Commence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin presses ahead with her plans to divorce Matthew, and finds out some of what he's been up to behind her back.

“Give me a bloody chance…” Kamilah Ellroy grumbled at her phone. It was three minutes past nine on Monday morning and this was the second call already. She’d barely managed to switch her computer on, let alone take a mouthful of the much needed freshly brewed coffee that sat on her desk.

“Fire away…” she replied, seeing that, unlike the first call which had come through on her direct line, her PA was transferring this one.

“Kam, it’s Mrs Cunliffe for you, she says it’s quite urgent but I’ve said you might not be available immediately…”

Kam had been preparing to ask Georgia to take a message, but in the light of the first call she’d received, asked her to transfer Robin through. A short conversation ensued and she booked Robin in for an appointment at 11.30 the following day.

Robin hung up, disappointed and anxious. After the conversation with Ilsa on Saturday evening she’d spent as much of Sunday as she could spare reading everything she could about every possible eventuality that could occur as a result of her filing for divorce, and what measures could be put in place in the even of Matthew being difficult in any number of ways. Having gotten herself so hyped up she had been keen to see Kamilah as soon as possible to get things underway. She was also aware that Matthew was going on a business trip at the end of the week and was keen to serve the papers just before he left, to minimise his opportunity for retaliation and give him a period of cooling off time.

Instead of going home, she messaged Kathy, and confirming that she was in, headed over to her house. After a pleasant chat about Kath’s weekend and the progress of her pregnancy, the subject of Saturday’s trauma, and Ilsa’s subsequent intervention came up. Robin, who was aware that Kath wasn’t a huge fan of Matt, was nonetheless taken aback by her friend’s reaction.

“You don’t seem surprised at what Ilsa suggested about Matt.”

Kath smiled at her sadly.

“I’ve been having the same thoughts myself for a long time to be honest Robin. I didn’t want to say anything because, well, he was your husband, and no-one really knows what makes a marriage tick apart from the people in it.”

“And since we’ve split?”

“You had enough on your plate without trying to get your head around that as well. What are you going to use for the divorce petition?”

“I’ve already based it on adultery, and I’m going to stick with that. Like you say, it’s not an easy thing to get my head around. I struggle to even say it out loud, and I don’t ever want the kids to see their dad’s name and ‘domestic abuse’ in the same sentence. They’re young enough that, if he sees sense and behaves reasonably, I can be free and they can still have a good relationship with him. I don’t want to jeopardise that.”

Kath nodded. “Sounds fair enough. So back to baby prep…now we know I’m having a pink one, fancy helping me do some online shopping?”

* * *

On Tuesday morning, Robin returned home after dropping Alex at school and Edie at nursery to prepare for her meeting with Kam. She made herself a coffee and pored over the extensive notes that she’d made, checking she’d not forgotten anything, then headed upstairs to get changed.

She knew it mattered not one iota what she wore, but her self-esteem was beginning to re-assert itself and turning up in ‘mum mode’ whilst perfectly acceptable, would not give her the strength she needed.

Start as you mean to go on…

She stood despairingly in front of her wardrobe. Having not worked for four years, all of her clothes were either or casual or dressy with very little in between. Eventually she settled on pair of navy cigarette pants which pre-dated her pregnancy with Edie, hoping that the half stone she’d lost in the stress of the last few weeks would enable her to do them up. Thankfully they slid on more easily than she’d imagined and she added a cream silk blouse with an open neck and double cuffs, rummaging in her dressing table for the couple of boxes of cufflinks she kept in there.

The first box she opened contained a pearl and crystal set that Matthew had bought her, being unimpressed with the novelty ones she had purchased herself, and had indeed, been her entire reason for buying the blouse in the first place.

“Well you can bugger right off…” she muttered under her breath, chucking them back in the drawer, and fixing her preferred set into place with a grin of satisfaction at her own rebelliousness.

She applied a little more make up than usual, partly for a confidence boost, partly to hide the shadows beneath her eyes, her recovery from Saturday’s angst and the rather substantial quantities of wine and ice cream she’d consumed in its aftermath still not entirely complete.

Checking her appearance a final time in the hallway mirror, Robin gathered her paperwork and set off for the solicitor’s office.

* * *

She was early for her appointment and after reporting to reception, took one of the rather plush seats in the foyer to await being called in for her appointment as had been the case on her previous visit. She was taken by surprise therefore, to see Kamilah approaching her ten minutes later and dropping into the neighbouring seat.

“Hello Mrs Cunliffe,” she smiled, “I just popped out rather than having you sent through, as I heard from Mr Strike’s office yesterday about the laptops and mobiles they’ve been looking at for us. Both Mr Strike and Mr Herbert have been able to join us this morning. It was a little short notice so I wasn’t sure they’d be able to make it and I didn’t want you caught off guard. Is that okay with you?”

“That’s fine, and please call me Robin. I haven’t decided yet what I’m doing about my surname when this is over, but I’d rather hear the current one as little as possible.”

“Understood,” nodded Kam. “Shall we go through?”

Butterflies gathered in Robin’s stomach as they made their way along the ground floor corridor to the lift, then down the second-floor hallway to Kam’s office. Why were Strike and Spanner here? It only needed one of them surely? What had they found that warranted them both turning up? Unless it wasn’t entirely necessary, and Strike was just…

_Oh God Robin, stop. You don’t need any more complications in your life right now, and in any case you’re being utterly ridiculous…_

She greeted the two men warmly, trying to ignore their tense expressions, and accepted a cup of tea. She felt her breathing falter slightly, the sign of an impending panic attack, and sipped the hot liquid in an attempt to calm herself, succeeding only in burning the roof of her mouth.

It transpired there was little to be worried about, although she was certainly shocked at the extent of what Spanner had discovered between the various gadgets. Matthew was apparently hiding several million pounds. But where on earth had he got that kind of money from?

“Your father-in-law, Geoffrey Cunliffe,” stated Strike, “He worked in property development, didn’t he? When he moved to Spain with his second wife, do you know what happened to his portfolio?”

“It was sold to a larger company as far I know. After he’d bought his place out there, he signed the family home over to Matt’s sister, helped us buy our house and invested the rest of the money for his retirement.”

Strike nodded. “I thought you’d say something like that. What actually appears to have happened is that Geoffrey remortgaged some of his properties, then he and Matthew set themselves up as co-directors of a new property management company, registered in the Cayman Islands. The money from the remortgaging, plus Geoffrey’s other savings and investments was then used by the new company to purchase the remainder of the portfolio. The Islands are a tax haven. Since then they’ve used a combination of shell companies and equity swaps to maximise their investments and the rental income whilst paying minimum tax, and keeping the whole operation hidden from both you, and probably Geoffrey’s wife too. Kimberley’s name is on some of what we’ve found so I imagine she’s aware of what’s going on. Protecting her own inheritance, no doubt.”

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Robin, then, more quietly, “I really should have been more on the ball…”

“Honestly I doubt it would have made a difference,” Spanner reassured her. “They’ve got an incredibly clever set up, probably had a lot of advice.”

Robin drained her mug and turned to Kamilah. “So, where do we go from here?”

Kam turned to Strike and Spanner, thanking them for their hard work and sending them on their way so she could continue to discuss her client’s divorce in private. Robin shook hands with both men and watched them head back to the lift, silently admonishing herself for imagining that Strike held onto her hand for a second longer than necessary.

Kam sat down and opened her file.

“The draft petition that you’ve done is fine,” she said, passing Robin the document. “If you’re sure you still want to go ahead on those grounds, you just need to tick the boxes I’ve indicated about applications for financial settlement, and sign and date at the bottom.”

Robin did as she was asked without hesitation, then filled Kam in on the events of the weekend and her concerns that Matthew would try similar tactics again.

“I know this is difficult to hear, but at this stage I think we need to keep our powder dry. Matthew is clearly an intelligent man and he knows that that kind of nonsense won’t get him very far if this goes to mediation or court.” She saw Robin flinch. “I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that doesn’t happen, which is why I’m advising you not to go in all guns blazing at the outset. You said he’s away for a week from Wednesday, then you’re both going to stay with your respective families in Yorkshire over Easter?”

“That’s right. I’m fairly certain he’ll behave with our families around…”

“Which will give us some breathing space.”

“And what about the financial side of things? Presumably once he gets the divorce petition, he could start trying to move the money about, just to be on the safe side. If he finds out we know what he’s been up when we do the financial declarations, he’ll definitely try to cover his tracks.”

“I’m going to start preparing a Section 37 order,” Kam told her. “It’s a court order that will enable his assets to be frozen until a settlement is agreed and signed off in court. It includes anything held in joint names with his father and also takes into account any juggling he’s done with the finances over the three years prior to the breakdown of the marriage, so if he does try anything, we can get that taken into consideration also. I would suggest you remove your half of anything in joint accounts into a personal account purely for your own ease of access if necessary. Now, assuming a 50/50 split as a bare minimum, is it likely you’d be in a position to buy him out of the family home?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Robin, “I know it sounds like a lot of money, which it is, but we’ve got a significant mortgage and some debt. I’ll have to get valuations, look at my likely earning potential once Edie starts school next year, running costs, child maintenance…”

“Right, you need to look into all that and do some sums. In the meantime, I’ll also draft an application for a Mesher order. If the court agree to that, it would enable you stay in the house, although there is no guarantee a court would order Matthew to pay the entire mortgage. You need to prepared to go halves on that at least. The house would then be sold and the equity divided either when your youngest child turns eighteen, or if you remarry.”

Robin let out a derisive snort.

“I know,” grinned Kam, “But stranger things happen, believe me. The Mesher order is a potential safety net. They’re not agreed all that frequently but it’s as well to be prepared. For what it’s worth I think if there’s any way to avoid going down that road it would be a much better outcome for you.”

Robin agreed wholeheartedly. As much as she wanted stability for Alex and Edie, the thought of being tied to Matthew, even by bricks and mortar, for the next fifteen years was distinctly unappealing. She and Kam spent a few more minutes discussing the details and timings of filing the paperwork, and soon she was in the lift, it’s doors opening onto the wide, modern reception area, where, in the same seat as Robin had occupied earlier that day sat a familiar large figure in a long overcoat.

Strike looked at her anxiously as she approached. “All okay?”

“It’s all fine,” she smiled at him. “Don’t you have any other clients?”

He blushed a little. “Well, yes, but they are either under electronic surveillance or out of the country until tomorrow, so…I thought you might be able to use a friendly face and a coffee after that.”

“That sounds good, although I have a better idea…”

The ended up in The Mitre where Robin bought Strike lunch to thank him for his efforts and for waiting for her. At one point he made to reach for her hand and her heart nearly stopped, but he was only interested in a closer inspection of the cufflinks she was wearing.

“Land Rovers?!” he grinned. “Do you still have yours?”

“No. It’s still going though…just. Martin drives it these days. And I’ve got a bloody Audi,” she rolled her eyes. “That’ll be the first thing to go once the finances are sorted out.”

They left the pub in plenty of time for Robin to stop by the supermarket on her way to pick up the children. Strike walked with her and when they reached the car park, their friendly banter and the lack of professional boundaries to be observed made reaching for one another and exchanging a kiss on the cheek seem like the most natural thing in the world.

“Keep in touch, won’t you?” Strike asked her, “Let me know how it goes…here…” he reached for his ever-present notepad to scribble down his phone number.

“I’ve got it,” Robin said softly, stopping him in his tracks. “I dug out my old phone on Friday night.”

“You’ve still got a ten-year-old mobile phone?” Strike was incredulous. “I didn’t have you down for a hoarder.”

Robin felt her face colouring.

“Only of some things,” she replied, not quite meeting his eye as her mind flitted to the box of mementos from the time they’d spent working together, the never-worn green dress stashed in the back of the wardrobe. “Anyway, I found out why I didn’t get your messages…”

“Matthew?”

She nodded. “He deleted them, blocked your number. I never realised. What with the way you fired me and all the stuff in the newspaper about you recruiting a new assistant, it seemed obvious you just really didn’t want me back.”

“I wanted you back before I reached the end of your pathway,” he admitted. “But it was safer to wait, if you’d got the calls you would have known what was going on. The newspaper articles were a favour from Culpepper to throw Laing off the scent, to protect you.”

“And look where that got us,” she said sadly. “Still we’re here now...”

“Better late than never,” he smiled softly back.

She watched him until he disappeared around the corner, before climbing into her car and heading for Waitrose.

That evening Robin, Alex and Edie made pizzas and danced around the kitchen to the glow of the fairy lights she’d liberated from the loft, and for the first time in weeks, Robin truly believed that everything would be alright.


	17. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin puts on a brave face for two more visits from Matthew, but even as he starts his business trip he's plotting his next move.  
> A barbecue at the Herbert's provides a well earned opportunity to relax for Robin, and a chance for Alex and Edie to make some new friends.

Kamilah Ellroy called Robin later that day to confirm that she’d sent off her divorce petition. It would take a few days for the court to send out notification to Matthew and then they would have to wait for his acknowledgement, which he was obliged to give within seven days. With nothing more to be done for the time being, Robin set about filling her time as much as possible, organising half term activities and planning the family's forthcoming trip to Masham for Easter.

On Tuesday evening, Matthew turned up to visit the children as planned. Robin had forgotten her promise to call him and so he had just let himself in five o’clock, any pretence at trying to be civilised well and truly on the back burner. She dreaded how much worse it might get once he received the divorce petition.

“There’s pasta on the stove,” she told him before calling upstairs where the children were playing in Alex’s room, “Alex…Edie, Daddy’s here.”

Once the children had arrived, she left the three of them to it, taking her laptop off to her bedroom to do the weekly food shopping online and waste time surfing the internet until he’d gone. She listened to him chatting to the kids as they ate, the giggles and splashing emanating from the bathroom, the negotiation with Edie over which bedtime story she wanted, followed by her complaints that Matthew couldn’t do the voices like mummy. The stilted sound of Alex reading his own book to his father.

Family life, thought Robin. Except they weren’t a family anymore and they never would be again, not the four of them, not the way it was meant to be, not how she’d imagined her family would look since she was a little girl. They wouldn’t grow old together like her parents, celebrate milestone anniversaries, sit together at graduations and weddings, and share in the delight of future grandchildren as she’d watched her own parents do. Despite her reservations even as she’d walked down the aisle of St Mary the Virgin, she had hoped for happier outcome.

Eventually, she heard Matthew retreating down the stairs, and went to see him out, swallowing the lump in her throat.

* * *

Robin felt stronger by Thursday. Kam had been in touch to let her know the court had processed the paperwork and it was likely that Matthew would receive the divorce petition the following day.

He turned up to visit the children that evening, letting himself in half an hour early whilst she was on the phone to Ilsa. She thought to herself that if she couldn’t change the locks, she would at least put the latch on in future so he couldn’t do that. It made her feel on edge.

He hovered by the kitchen door as she finished her conversation, despite her brief glare of annoyance.

“That would be lovely, shall I bring anything…are you sure? Okay then I’ll see you Saturday about three. Yep, okay, bye.”

“Where are you off to on Saturday then?” Matthew asked conversationally.

“Just seeing a friend.”

“And the kids?”

“Them too,” Robin responded, determined not to give him any more detail than was necessary.

“Who? Do they know about us?”

“It’s an old friend of mine, and yes they do, not that it’s of any relevance.”

Once again, she left him to it with the children, little realising that in her attempt to give away as little as possible, she had left the door open to all kinds of assumptions on his part.

* * *

Knowing that Matthew would have likely received the divorce petition, Robin did her best to distract herself the following morning, popping to Next and treating herself to a new dress and summer sandals for the Herbert’s barbecue the following day, and doing her best not to question why she was putting so much thought into her outfit. She picked up the grocery shopping, looked through some paint brochures with half a mind to redecorate her bedroom, made lunch, picked Edie up from nursery and then both Alex and Harry from school, the latter for a sleepover.

Matthew, meanwhile, was sitting in the business lounge at Heathrow dialling the number of the solicitor a thrice-divorced colleague had recommended.

“Good morning, LMP Legal Services,” answered a young, upper class sounding woman.

Matthew explained that he’d been advised to speak to the partner in charge of family law regarding his situation. He dropped the name of the much older, very wealthy and highly respected manager who had given him the number and was put through almost immediately.

He spent some time explaining his predicament and how he would ideally like to proceed and was gratified that his legal advisor seemed to be on board with what he was suggesting.

“We’ll need suitable ‘evidence’ of course,” said the deep, rich voice at the other end of the line, “But I know someone who can help us with that. My cousin is a professional in that area, semi-retired but I’m sure given the specifics of your case they’d be more than willing to help us out. I’ll give them a call and email you costs and when they’re able to start.”

“Don’t worry about that,” replied Matthew brusquely, his flight had just been called. “Money isn’t a problem, just get them on it as soon as possible.”

“Very well, I’ll still send you the information and our terms and conditions. Just sign them and get them back as soon as possible. Hopefully we’ll be in a position to meet with some useful information after the Easter break.”

Matthew was walking briskly toward his departure date, shooting flirtatious glances at passing flight attendants even as he hung up and continued to plan his response to Robin’s divorce petition.

* * *

Saturday dawned sunny and warmer than average for early April. Robin make the kids pancakes for breakfast as a treat, and let them add their own toppings, resulting in lots of laughter for them and complete carnage for the kitchen.

By the time Kath arrived at 1pm to pick up Harry, order was restored and the three children were finishing their lunch in a pop up tent in the back garden.

“Time for a cuppa?” Robin smiled as her friend stepped into the hallway.

“Always,” replied Kath, giving her a quick once over. “Well you look very nice for a Saturday afternoon child wrangling. Something you’re not telling me?”

“No,” Robin filled the kettle and opened the Betty’s tea caddy, “We’re just off to a barbecue a bit later.”

“Oh, where’s that then?”

“Ilsa’s – you know the old friend I bumped into the other week.”

“The one that’s also friends with Strike,” Kath looked at her, eyebrow raised.

“Yes she is, and I don’t even know if he’s going. Look…” she sat down, passing Kathy her mug of tea, “…please stop teasing me about him. You know it’s not the best time for me right now, and it’s nice to be back in touch with old friends, that’s all. I could do without the constant wind ups.”

Kathy could see that Robin looked slightly tearful and felt a little guilty.

“Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right of course, and it’s really good to see you looking after yourself a bit too. You know I’m always here for you,” she reached across the table and squeezed her hand, “…and I’m sorry if I’ve got a bit carried away with the piss-taking.”

“S’okay. Just don’t do it again,” she admonished, mock sternly. “Now tell me all about date night!”

* * * 

Robin was purposely a little late arriving at Octavia Street. She been truthful with Kathy about not knowing whether Strike would be there, but it seemed unlikely that he wouldn’t be, unless he was working. Or had a previous arrangement, a date or…

_Oh God, please don’t let him turn up with someone._

Robin knew the timing was wrong, they were only just friends again, she couldn’t trust her feelings, and absolutely nothing could happen between them, not that he would probably be interested anyway. She’d made her peace with that, but she could really do without fate rubbing her nose in her current single status, and she suspected the other guests would all be couples or families. And she wouldn’t know any of them, which was why she was hoping that Strike might be there when she arrived, or at least she had been.

But he wasn’t. Nonetheless she plastered a smile on as she greeted Ilsa and was reintroduced to Nick, who smiled at her with his kind, hazel eyes and made her feel instantly at ease. Spanner ambled in from the garden to say hello and took her back out with him to introduce her to Penny. The two women struck up an instant rapport and even after her recent nannying holiday she was immediately taken with Alex and Edie. She didn’t get a look in however, with Brooke and her best friend, Ellie determined to take Edie under their wing, and Logan keen to show Alex the bug hotel his grandad had helped him build the previous weekend.

Ilsa handed Robin a glass of Pimms with a grin.

“Looks like we’re both in for a fairly relaxing afternoon,” she nodded at the kids dotted around the garden.

“It does…thanks for inviting me.” Robin paused, wanting to ask if anyone else was coming, genuinely interested but wary of the question being misconstrued.

The doorbell prevented her musing any further and she heard a slightly high-pitched, soft West Country accent drifting into the garden which gave her a vague sense of déjà vu. She turned to see Lucy making her way through the kitchen, followed by a man almost as tall as Strike, with a mop of slightly overlong nut-brown hair. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a check shirt thrown over the top, and had the slightly weather-beaten, but nonetheless appealing look of a man who spends a lot of time outdoors. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed a couple of immaculately etched tattoos, and a hammered silver ring shone against his tan on his wedding finger. He couldn’t have been less like Greg if he tried, and Robin wondered how on earth the universe had seen fit to bring this unlikely couple together.

Lucy recognised Robin immediately, or perhaps, Robin suspected, Ilsa had offered a gentle reminder, knowing they had met at Denmark Street on a few occasions in another life.

“Robin, it’s lovely to see you again after all this time. How are you doing?” Before Robin could answer she scanned the garden and turned to Ilsa. “Where’s Stick?”

Nick interjected. “Held up with a case, he’ll be here in time for food, of course,” he laughed.

Robin tried to suppress a sense of relief as Lucy started to quiz her on everything that happened over the last nine years. She had a feeling she might need rescuing before long.

* * *

Strike arrived an hour later just as Nick was lighting the barbecue, and paused in the kitchen to greet Ilsa, who was preparing salads, and put his beers in the fridge. As he applied the bottle opener to his first Doom Bar, he caught a flash of shimmering strawberry blonde hair in the garden, unusually wavy rather than straight but still unmistakeable in the late afternoon sun. The small but resounding thump in his solar plexus was short-lived, however, as he realised who she was talking to. He watched the other woman lean forward and whisper conspiratorially in Robin’s ear, making her throw her head back, laughing.

“Seriously Ils?” He looked at her reproachfully, flicking his gaze to the garden and back again.

She followed his eyeline.

“I thought you’d be pleased to see Robin,” she said mildly.

“Well obviously I’m pleased to see her but…” he tailed off as Ilsa arched one eyebrow at him, smirking.

“They’re both my friends, so they’re both invited. I can’t stop them talking to one another,” she shrugged, momentarily seeing the situation through Strike’s eyes and squashing a tingle of guilt.

“It’s just as well you’re my best mate,” he sighed, waving to Nick as he turned a to acknowledge him, “Right, wish me luck, I’m going in.”

“Robin,” he greeted her, as he approached “Good to see you again. I didn’t know you were coming.” There was something about the way she looked that afternoon, about how relaxed she seemed in the company of his friends that took him back years in a fraction of heartbeart. He only just managed to stop himself calling her ‘Ellacott’.

“Hi Cormoran,” he noticed she looked slightly flushed, and prayed it was down to the unseasonably warm weather, rather than whatever her companion had just whispered in her ear.

He turned to Lucy, who was smiling at him in a way that he knew all too well indicated he would be getting the third degree later.

“Stick,” she gave him a reproachful look, leaning in close as Robin was momentarily distracted by Alex and Logan, “You didn’t tell me Robin was the client you were so worried about.”

“That’s because client matters are confidential. Anyway, how do you know her case was the one bothering me?” he retorted, taking a vigorous pull on his beer

She noted his defensive stance and Robin turning back to the group and dropped the subject with a roll of her eyes at her brother.

“I’m guessing that’s your two?” he asked Robin, indicating Alex and Edie, who along with Logan were currently making their way around the garden with a net and a clear plastic box, catching insects. Edie stopped abruptly, poked in a small mound of dirt and…

“Got it!” she shouted happily, turning to drop the unfeasibly large earthworm into the viewing box with a triumphant grin as both boys looked on, astounded.

Strike laughed. “Can’t think where she gets her determination from,” he murmured, taking a sip of his beer, while Robin smiled at the backhanded compliment.

The rest of the afternoon passed far too quickly. Robin couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a relatively large gathering so much. Apart from book club, most of the social events she attended were hosted by various friends of Matthews. She had always known, and the last few hours had confirmed it, that she preferred burgers and sausages over fancy cuts of meat marinated in expensive, hard to find ingredients; talk of kids and families and their various funny antics over house prices and promotions; discussions about holidays visiting family rather than competing to see who had booked the newest, most exclusive resort for the longest break.

It was great to see Lucy, a happy, relaxed newlywed after learning about the loss of her first husband. Lovely to watch Nick and Ilsa’s obvious delight and pride in their children, to hear tales of Spanner and Penny’s crazy puppy, and their plans for the future.

And it was wonderful to be in Strike’s company. To see again those familiar mannerisms that she had never entirely forgotten, to breath the comforting smell of tobacco, clean laundry and woody aftershave, to enjoy good food and conversation together and for a few hours forget about Matthew and what the future might hold.

By seven o’clock, it was getting chilly. Alex was flagging and Edie had climbed into Robin’s lap to doze, her mother’s cardigan draped around her.

“Time to go I think,” she yawned, a little tired herself from an afternoon of sunshine, fresh air, and probably a little too much food. “C’mon Alex.”

He said goodbye to his new friend, while Brooke and Ellie cooed over the sleeping Edie. Robin reached to steady herself on the table with her spare hand as she got to her feet.

“Here, let me,” Strike interjected. She paused for moment, then passed Edie up to him. The little girl barely stirred at the transition. As Robin helped Alex into his jacket, Strike looked up and saw Ilsa and Nick watching him from just inside the kitchen.

“Stop it,” he mouthed silently but firmly.

Robin thanked her hosts and Strike carried Edie out to the car, loaded her in and stood back while she dealt with the fastenings of the car seat. She thanked him for his help, and he wished her a safe journey home, telling her once again to keep in touch and let him know how things progressed.

“I will,” she said. There was a pause before they briefly embraced one another and deposited kisses on cheeks by way of goodbye. It was as if they were both suddenly unsure of something that had seemed so natural just a few days previously. A whole afternoon in each other’s company, Strike’s gentle manner with Edie and the gathering twilight all seemed to conspire to give the simple gesture more meaning than was appropriate.

Don’t be prat, Strike reprimanded himself as he walked up the path and back into the Herbert’s house.

Get a grip, Robin muttered under her breath as she pulled away from the kerb.

They were both so caught up in their own thoughts and feelings that neither of them noticed the shadowy figure watching them from a barely concealed alleyway opposite, or the camera they were holding.


	18. A Tale of Two Pubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin heads for Masham where a heated debate with her mum and a heart-to-heart with her dad await.
> 
> In St Mawes, Strike doesn't thank Lucy for her interference in his personal life.

The first week of the Easter school holidays passed busily but without major event. It was only as Robin packed the car for their trip to Yorkshire early on Thursday morning it occurred to her that the seven days which Matthew had to respond to her divorce petition were nearly up.

The thought troubled her only momentarily. Between the Bank Holiday weekend, his business trip and the fact he’d no doubt speak to a solicitor first, she resigned herself to the fact it would likely be the end of the following week before she heard anything and continued the laborious task of packing the car.

Robin had always enjoyed preparing for road trips as much as the driving, but with two small children the planning took on a whole other dimension. Three small suitcases went into the back of car, her own pale blue one, a navy blue one bedecked with spaceships and bearing Alex’s name, and a ride-on ladybird ‘Trunki’ for Edie. A small selection of favourite toys and books along with snacks and drinks for the journey in the middle of the back seat. Robin cued up Monsters Inc on the rear DVD players and threw Edie’s old potty in the boot in case of emergency stops. Finally, she popped a bag of toffees and her ancient tartan flask onto the front passenger seat, called to the children to make last minute bathroom visits and get their coats and shoes on, and, eventually pulled away from the house and headed for Masham.

They were speeding smoothly along the A1 north of Leicester when Robin realised that Alex and Edie would need a bathroom break soon. A roadside sign indicated that the next services were Donington Park, and she resisted the temptation – just – to swear under her breath. She glanced at her dozing children and calculated that she could probably get away with driving the additional ten miles to Trowell Services, rather than stopping at the scene of Matthew’s deception.

Approximately ninety seconds later, Alex’s plaintive voice came from behind her.

“Mummy I need I wee, can we stop soon.”

She gritted her teeth and sighed.

“No problem sweetheart, can you hold on for about five minutes?”

“I think so.”

“Marvellous.”

* * *

Strike reached St Mawes in the early hours of Good Friday morning, having opted to drive down through the evening and night rather than face bank holiday weekend traffic. Arriving shortly before 3am, he let himself in and quietly made his way to the spare room, where he stripped off and fell straight into bed, exhausted.

He awoke earlier than he would have liked the following morning, but thought better of going back to sleep when the scent of fresh coffee and bacon reached him. He pulled on underwear, jeans and t-shirt and made his way to the kitchen.

“Stick!” Lucy momentarily left the refurbished Aga to give him a hug, “What time did you get in?”

“Don’t ask…where’s Joe and the boys?” He poured himself a sizeable mug of black coffee and added two heaped teaspoons of sugar.

“Adam’s gone down to the beach to call his girlfriend in peace, Jack’s in the workshop with Joe, and Oliver’s taken his breakfast and gone back to bed.”

Strike laughed as she rolled her eyes and wished he could do the same. A few years previously he wouldn’t have imagined Lucy letting any of her sons get away with such antisocial behaviour, and even now he doubted it would be worth the aggro to try and get away with it himself.

“What time are we picking up Ted and Joan?”

Lucy and Joe’s first job on the house had been to enlarge the kitchen/diner and turn the existing dining room and utility room into a downstairs bedroom and shower room so that Ted and Joan could stay with them whenever they were visiting.

“I thought we’d head over after lunch, bring them back here with their stuff, get them settled in and then head to The Victory for an early dinner, what do you think?”

“Cooked breakfast and pub for dinner?” he replied, grinning, “Sounds like a perfect day!”

* * *

Robin had been looking forward to having her parents to herself for a day and a half before the rest of her family descended. Stephen and Jonathan were both spending the first half of the weekend with their respective in-laws, whilst Martin was working shifts and planned to visit on Easter Monday.

Unfortunately, her enthusiasm had been somewhat dampened when, in his eagerness to tell his grandma about the first half of his school holiday, and in particular, his new friend Logan, Alex had announced that, “Mummy made a friend too. He’s got a funny name like a giant…”

Robin had found herself on the receiving end of a Paddington-esque hard stare from Linda Ellacott and the ensuing hushed discussion had started and ended with deep dissatisfaction on both sides. The atmosphere between the two women was still palpable as Robin sat at the kitchen table peeling potatoes and carrots, and Linda stirred minced lamb on the stove top with a little more aggression than normal.

The arrival of Michael Ellacott to the scene was more than welcome.

“Fancy a walk, Robin? I could do with some help tiring this one out for the evening.”

‘This one’ was the newest addition to the Ellacott family, a nine-month-old chocolate Labrador. The previous family dog, Rowntree, had passed away peacefully a few years earlier and Linda and Michael had decided against another dog at the time, but the previous autumn Michael had received a call from a local animal rescue centre. They’d liberated a litter from a puppy farm, and the runt of the litter needed twenty-four care. Michael had brought her home until she was out of the woods, and she’d provided company and a welcome distraction for Linda who had not long finished her cancer treatment. It had taken less than two weeks for them to decide she was going nowhere and name her Betty.

“Can we come grandad?” chimed in Alex.

“Not today pet,” he replied good naturedly, shooting a knowing look at Robin. “It’s looking pretty dowly out there. Besides…I think gran might need a hand icing those fairy cakes you made earlier.”

Robin gave her father a grateful smile and went to get her coat and wellies.

It was indeed ‘dowly’ as they made their way up the lane to the village square, dusk falling as fast as the fine, chilly drizzle that seemed to wrap itself around them with every step. Robin was anticipating walking on through the square, but her dad turned off up Silver Street, heading for The Bay Horse, their local pub.

“She’s already had two walks today,” he confided in Robin, “I just thought you and your mum could do with a bit of space from one another. Besides, I can’t remember the last time I had my favourite girl to myself.”

Robin could remember exactly when it had last been just the two of them, and she was sure her father could too. It had been a little over a year previously, when she’d stayed with him at the house while Linda was in hospital having part of her right breast and several lymph nodes removed. Matthew had stayed home in London due to work commitments, and Alex and Edie had enjoyed a ‘holiday’ with their Uncle Stephen and Auntie Jenny and their cousins.

It was quiet, being not quite five in the afternoon, and Robin took Betty and settled into a leather tub chair at a table for two in a bay window whilst Michael went to the bar for a pint of Theakston’s and a small white wine. He placed them on the table and slipped into the chair opposite.

“So, Cormoran Strike’s back on the scene then?” he asked taking a sip from his pint.

“Oh, don’t you start Dad. You heard the conversation with mum. He works for my solicitor, a friend of his has another friend that works there, and we bumped into each other, that’s all there is to it.”

“And what does Matthew make of this latest turn of events?”

“Matthew doesn’t know, and if he did have any opinions on the matter, he could shove them…”

“Okay, okay,” said Michael, holding up his hands, laughing. “When’s he arriving?”

“He’s flying in from Boston early hours of this morning and driving up tomorrow as far as I know.”

“Geoffrey’s already been here a week, making his presence felt.” Michael’s tone was unimpressed.

“Have you seen him then?”

“Oh yes. He made sure to me pay me a visit the day after they landed. Wanted a ‘man to man’ chat…told me it was my duty to ‘talk some sense into that pretty little lass of yours’.”

Michael Ellacott was a mild-mannered man, even where his only daughter was concerned, but Robin could sense the irritation he was exuding.

“Bloody cheek! Although not surprising under the circumstances,” she muttered darkly.

Her father looked at her, curious, and in a few succinct sentences she filled him in on what Spanner and Strike had discovered.

“It sounds like your Strike and his mate know their stuff.”

“He is most definitely not ‘my Strike’,” objected Robin, taking a larger swig of wine than she’d intended.

“You know what I mean,” said Michael dismissively. He took another mouthful of his own drink and they sat together in contemplative silence for a few minutes. “You know, I’ve always thought, I should have asked you on the day…”

“Asked me what? When?”

“On your wedding day. I should have asked if you were sure you wanted to go through with it. You were so unhappy in those few days beforehand. Matthew was too wrapped up in himself, your mother was too busy flapping to notice, but I did. I assumed it was just because of what had happened with…” he paused and indicated her right arm, “…but I should have asked you love. I’m sorry.”

Robin reached over the table and squeezed Michael’s hand. In the warm glow of the pub lighting he could see she had tears in her eyes.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for Dad. I don’t think it would have made a difference at that stage to be honest. It wasn’t…” she swallowed hard, she’d never been able to hold back from telling her father the truth, “It wasn’t you I needed to hear from at that point.”

Michael looked at his daughter, appreciating her honesty at the same time as his heart ached for the young girl who’d had her dreams snatched cruelly away at nineteen, fought so hard to win them back, then lost them again, all for the sake of her willingness to give Matthew another chance and a bit of bad timing.

“I heard Alex say that your ‘new friend’ makes you smile a lot,” he raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching slightly.

“We had a good afternoon. There were lots of people there who made me smile, and God knows I could use some more friends of my own.”

“Well, then I’m glad to hear you’ve found some good ones,” he drained the last of his pint. “Robin, your mother…you do know that all she wants, all she’s ever wanted is for you to be safe and happy. Particularly safe, since…well, you know.”

Robin sighed. “Dad I’m thirty-five years old. I have two kids, a mortgage, all the bells and whistles…”

“But you’re too safe and you’re not happy?”

She didn’t reply, just looked towards the window as she fiddled with a coaster. It was raining in earnest now and droplets of water ran silver and gold down the glass against an indigo sky.

“I realise your mum can be a bit overbearing at times, sweetheart, and that after what she went through last year it can be harder than it should it be to put your foot down when she starts. Lord knows I had no intention of signing up for all this again,” he smiled ruefully as he reached down to rub Betty’s ears while she gazed up at him with adoring brown eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is, it’s only natural that your mother wants you to be safe and happy, but she doesn’t get to choose what - or who - makes you feel that way. That’s up to you, remember that. You and no-one else.”

As they made their way back home through the now freezing rain, Robin didn’t think she had ever loved her father more.

* * *

Down in St Mawes, the weather was considerably more spring-like, even as evening gathered around The Victory. Meals ordered, Strike had excused himself and was seated at one of the wooden benches that sat on the narrow street outside the front of the pub, smoking and staring down to the sea. It was grey blue in the twilight and sparkling gently with the reflections of streetlamps, and his mind went briefly back to Robin, laughing in Ilsa and Nick’s garden the previous weekend. He smiled wistfully before common sense kicked in and he mentally cursed himself for being such a stupid fucker. How could he feel so much, so fast, after so long?

_You can’t. You just can’t. It’s insanity to even think about it. If you weren’t worthy of her ten years ago, you certainly aren’t now, and then there’s the kids…_

“Cormoran?”

Strike twisted round to see his Uncle Ted, pint in hand, manoeuvring himself onto the bench opposite, and turned around awkwardly to face him. The benches were the kind that had their slatted wooden seats attached so Strike had to perch on the end, it was too tricky to wrangle his prosthetic leg properly into position.

“Alright Ted, don’t tell me you’ve taken up smoking?” he quipped, waving his Benson and Hedges in the air.

“Your Aunt Joan would have my guts for garters,” rumbled Ted in response. It was true. Even Strike generally curtailed his habit in when she was around, and he’d noticed her disapproving look as he’d slunk out of the pub a few minutes previously.

“How are you doing then?” the older man asked.

They’d already had a brief catch up over tea and scones when they’d arrived back at the house that afternoon, and there was something in Ted’s tone that gave Strike pause. He looked at him for a moment before answering.

“Yeah…I’m fine. Business is good, no leg issues to speak of…”

“Good, although there’s more to life than work you know. What else have you been up to lately? Any holidays planned?”

Strike snorted. He didn’t do holidays, besides his regular trips back to Cornwall. It wasn’t that he disliked travelling per se, but he’d done plenty of it in the Army, and although there were places he’d still like to see, he had no desire to go alone or with a bunch of randoms on an overpriced ‘solo’ holiday. There had been holidays with Charlotte, always at her instigation, mostly ending in drama. There had almost been a holiday with Lorelei, but they’d split before getting around to booking anything. Besides there was always the travelling itself to contend with…the visceral reaction every time a plane took off and reminded him of being airlifted out of Helmand; the transfers in cars driven by God knows who, or the logistics and insurance issues involved in getting a hire car with only one leg…frankly it was easier to stay put.

Somehow though, he had a feeling that Ted wasn’t really wanting to hear about his non-existent holiday plans, a fact born out by his uncle’s expression as he watched his nephew across the table.

“Alright, I’ll come clean. Lucy’s been talking to me. She’s worried about you.”  
  
Strike rolled his eyes and knocked back a large mouthful of Doom Bar, registering, not for the first time, that somehow it always tasted better sitting outside the Victory that it did anywhere else.

“She said you two went to a barbecue at Nick and Ilsa’s last weekend…”

_So that’s where this is going..._

“…and that that lovely girl who used to work with you was there, and she’s getting divorced.”

“So?” replied Strike. It wasn’t like him to be defensive with Ted, but then it wasn’t like Ted to ask questions about his private life.

“Lucy thinks you might be ‘vulnerable’,” Ted indicated inverted commas with his fingers.

“Does she now?”

At that moment his sister popped her head out of the front door of the pub.

“Food will be five minutes,” she announced, her cheery expression dropping from her face when she saw the stony expression on her brother’s. She swiftly made to head back inside but was stopped by Ted’s voice.

“Lucy, come here…sit down.”

She perched gingerly next to Ted, whilst Strike glared at her.

“I think you should talk to Corm about this yourself. You know more about it all than I do and besides…I’m not going to be here to act as your go-between forever.”

The both looked at him, horrified.

“Just saying…” he murmured, getting to his feet with the aid of the stick he’d used since his hip replacement surgery a few years previously and ambling back indoors. Strike lit another cigarette, as much to annoy Lucy as because he needed the nicotine fix.

“I’m sorry Stick. I know you don’t like me prying or getting involved, but you’re my brother. I’m allowed to be concerned.”

“Why, for fuck’s sake? Am I not allowed to have a friend of the opposite sex now?”

“We both know your feelings for Robin went beyond that. You don’t go haring up the country in a stolen car with fairly major injuries after two sleepless nights for a woman who’s ‘just a colleague and friend’.”

Strike’s anger gave way to confusion. He hadn’t even confided in Nick and Ilsa about the abortive trip to Masham on the day of Robin’s wedding. The only person who knew about it was…

“Shanker let it slip at your fortieth,” Lucy explained with a shrug.

“She was a great assistant. I wanted her back...for the business,” he added, a little too hastily.

“Even Shanker didn’t believe that. And I know Ilsa always suspected you had feelings for her way beyond your working relationship. Feelings which, let’s face it, have never really been resolved because of the way things ended between you two. Lorelei aside you've not had a proper relationship since.”

“Well, Lucy, I’m really not in the business of giving a flying fuck about what other people think of my relationships, working or otherwise, and that includes you.”

He saw the hurt in Lucy’s eyes. They’d been so much closer over the last few years, it probably wasn’t unreasonable for her think that she could break down the final, unspoken boundary between them. But she was wrong.

“Look Luce,” his voice was softer. “I appreciate your concern, but that was a long time ago. I’m not about to jump into something with a woman who’s going through a messy divorce, much less when there are kids involved.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Robin’s lovely, I’ve always thought so, but the circumstances…”

“I get it, and besides…” he forced a dry chuckle, “I’m hardly stepfather material, am I?”

Lucy looked at him fondly.

“I don’t know…you’ve been a lovely uncle to my boys, albeit you took your time getting there, and you’re great with Brooke and Logan.”

“It’s not the same,” he replied, as he drained his pint and got to his feet, trying not to think of how comfortable he’d felt with Edie in his arms the previous weekend - her golden head tucked unto the curve of his shoulder, and how much that feeling had absolutely terrified him.


	19. Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin receives Matthew's response to her divorce petition. Strike tries to distract himself following his conversation with Lucy, and a return visit to St Monica's Care Home doesn't go to plan.

Robin arrived back from Masham on Wednesday afternoon feeling exhausted and generally out of sorts. Although she and Linda had tentatively made their peace, she’d continued to sense an underlying tension between them for the remainder of her visit. The last thing she needed, therefore, was an ominous looking envelope on the door mat as she entered the house.

Assuming it was Matthew’s response to her divorce petition, she set it aside on the hall table and went about the rest of her afternoon, unpacking, washing clothes, cleaning out the car, feeding, bathing and wrangling a pair of overtired children into bed.

Finally, at eight o’clock that evening, Robin sat down with a large mug of tea and opened the envelope.

She scanned the first page, where Matthew had ticked to confirm his name, country of residence, address and that there were no other legal proceedings going on that would affect the divorce. Breathing a sigh of relief that maybe he wouldn’t be difficult after all she turned the page.

> 4\. Do you intend to defend the case? **Yes**
> 
> 5\. _*In the case of a petition alleging adultery_  
>  Do you admit the adultery alleged in the petition? **No**

She physically jumped, gasping out loud with shock. For several minutes she tried and failed to process the words in front of her. Eventually she picked up her phone.

“Ilsa, hi it’s Robin.”

“Hi, did you have a good Easter break?”

“What? Oh yes, it was fine thanks. But I’ve received Matthew’s acknowledgment of service. He’s denying the affair and planning to contest it.”

“Shit! Do you have any evidence of what he was getting up to?”

“No. Nothing that would stand up in court anyway. There’s a payment for some jewellery on one of his accounts but he could lie about what that was. No hotel rooms, meals out, nothing. I suppose they met at her place and anything else went on expenses or was paid for in cash.”

Ilsa was silent at the other end of the line, thinking.

“Look, I’m no expert on marital law, so definitely contact Kam in the morning, but as far as I know he has to lodge his appeal within twenty-one days. If he doesn’t you can still proceed. He’s probably just trying to get a reaction.”

Robin nodded, feeling slightly calmer. She hoped that Matthew was just trying to wind her up and would back down at the last minute. She continued chatting to Ilsa, catching up on her news, and went to bed resolving to call her solicitor in the morning.

* * *

Robin’s phone call to Kam didn’t give her any further reassurance, but it helped to know exactly where she stood, even if the thought of having to wait three weeks for the outcome made Robin feel slightly nauseous.

With that in mind, and wanting to distract herself as much as possible, Robin made plans for the forthcoming weeks. She emailed Matthew regarding arrangements for his seeing the children, which included an overnight stay the following weekend she had been advised to keep in place although the thought of it…well, she just tried not to think about it.

She made a list of small jobs that needed doing around the house, picked up paint charts and browsed the internet with the intention of redecorating her bedroom now that Matthew no longer had to have a say in the décor. She debated asking him if he would like to take the large, expensive mahogany bed that his father had gifted them for the wedding – it had never been to her taste – but felt it might be inflammatory so thought better of it.

Hours were spent over the following ten days working out her finances and the likelihood of buying Matthew out of the family home. Staying in the current house didn’t look likely, but she would be able to afford something smaller close enough that Alex and Edie wouldn’t have to change schools.

Sat at her laptop, drinking a mug of Betty’s Tearoom Blend that she’d brought back from her recent visit, Robin’s mind wandered briefly back to Yorkshire. Her budget would go so much further there, she reflected. They didn’t need a huge house, but they would have more options, could maybe even manage without a mortgage. She’d have her parents and brothers nearby, her oldest friend, Katie and her family much closer. She wouldn’t need to return to work full time as soon as Edie started school. She could get the children a pony and keep it on her cousin’s farm. She smiled, it seemed idyllic in her head. But Matthew wouldn’t leave London, and would no doubt make things difficult. Even after everything that had happened so far, all his subtle threats, Robin still hoped that he and the children could have a good relationship at least.

With a sigh, she changed her search parameters on Right Move, and began trawling once again through houses for sale in the Richmond area.

* * *

Strike had enjoyed the remainder of his trip to St Mawes but was glad to be back home and working. The conversation with Lucy still rankled, the way she’d implied that Robin might hurt him, as if she was another bloody Charlotte.

Two weeks later, it still angered him that she would think that, when he could think of no-one less likely to hurt another human being.

_She had though, hadn’t she…_

But not on purpose. She’d had no idea how he had really felt about her. Was oblivious to his thwarted attempts to make those feelings known before the sapphire and diamond ring had landed back on her finger. And then he’d sacked her, in a storm of rage, pain and fear and she’d gotten on with her life, as was her right.

Meanwhile, he’d pushed the self-destruct button. Stepping out of himself and looking dispassionately at the situation, he could see why Lucy was worried.

After the initial ten days in the Travelodge in Morden, drinking himself into oblivion and indulging in an ill-advised one-night stand, he’d finally returned to Denmark Street and ploughed all his energy into reviving the business. He worked and worked and when he wasn’t working, he drank and he smoked. No-one heard from him for weeks, he didn’t return calls, ignored hospital appointments and pushed his leg beyond all sensible limits, the resulting physical pain a welcome distraction from his mental state.

He’d finally agreed, purely in order to get her off his back, to going to Lucy’s for Sunday lunch on the August bank holiday weekend. He’d crawled into bed after a punishing all night surveillance job at eleven on the Saturday morning, and remembered nothing until he awoke in a hospital bed on Monday afternoon with a surge of panic and was violently sick.

He hadn’t shown up at Lucy’s. She’d called and texted before driving into the centre of London and hammering on the door of his flat to no response. With an unusually imaginative sense of foreboding, she called Ilsa who had arrived forty minutes later with the spare key.

They’d found him in bed, forehead scalding, sheets drenched, floating between consciousness and delirium. Tentatively pulling back the bedding it had become apparent that, having ignored the contact dermatitis and blistering on his stump caused by overuse of the prosthesis, it had become seriously infected. Ilsa had called Nick, then an ambulance. Even in the grip of sepsis, the paramedics had had to sedate him to get him out of the flat.

In the following weeks, he’d been forced to accept the help of his sister and closest friends, to endure the bollocking from his consultant Mr Chakrabati, and the dire warnings about the consequences of continued lack of care both to himself as whole, and particularly for his partial limb.

So, he’d taken on Andy Hutchins, pulled himself together as best he could and a month later, by which time he was almost fully healed, physically at least, he had met Lorelei.

She had been everything he’d needed at the time. Recently single after a long-term relationship, she’d been happy to keep things casual as well as being fun, pretty and both talented and imaginative in bed. Best of all, she was nothing like Robin, with her dark hair and dusky complexion, her love of all things bright and kitsch contrasting starkly with his memories of Robin’s shimmering rose gold hair, pale freckled skin and understated, classic taste.

Her hadn’t meant to hurt her any more than Robin had meant to hurt him, which is why he had sworn off relationships after that, if not sex.

It was Friday evening, and the weekend stretched ahead, empty save for a job on Sunday morning.

He hadn’t heard from Robin since the barbecue, and debated calling her to see if she wanted to…

_…what? Have dinner? Meet up tomorrow, children in tow and just ‘hang out’._

He mentally castigated himself for his ridiculousness. It would be madness, a rabbit hole he had no business venturing down for either of their sakes.

He reached for his phone anyway…and called Ciara.

* * *

Robin headed downstairs before six on Sunday morning, after a fretful night with little sleep. She’d managed to put on a cheerful voice for the children when she’d said goodnight the previous evening, before bursting into tears as soon as she put the phone down. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the overnights.

Blowing her nose, she called Kath, who gave her a stern but affectionate pep talk and instructions to go to her front door and look behind the planter on her doorstep. She hung up and did as she was told, to discover a brown paper bag with string handles, the words ‘Emergency Care Package’ written in beautiful, glittery handwriting that she immediately recognised as Kathy’s. Inside was a bath bomb, two cans of premixed gin and tonic, a bar of chocolate and a detective novel that was currently number one on the Times bestseller list.

She spent pleasant couple of hours, wallowing and reading, but the minute she’d climbed into bed and closed her eyes all she could see where the reams of figures from the multiple spreadsheets she’d created calculating every possible financial income, housing arrangement, future employment and childcare factors…  
Conceding defeat just after five, Robin made herself a mug of coffee, curled up on the sofa in her dressing gown and returned to her new book.

* * *

Strike awoke on Sunday morning feeling physically sated and mildly achy, having spent Saturday afternoon and evening with Ciara before making his way home in the small hours. He also felt slightly grubby, he realised, not because he’d used sex with Ciara as a distraction but because of what he’d needed distracting from, namely Robin. He felt seedy, dishonest and unreasonably guilty. The fact that even Ciara’s typically exceptional bedroom skills hadn’t entirely had the desired effect made him feel even worse, and even a plate full of delicious fried food and multiple mugs of strong, sugary coffee at a café on the way to St Monica’s did nothing to improve his mood.

By the time he reached the care home, he felt thoroughly out of sorts. He plastered on his best professional demeanour to greet Brenda and dropped into the conversation that he had another job later that morning hoping to head off any attempt to engage him for longer that was strictly necessary.

She took him to the room of the first resident, an eighty-seven year old man who chatted happily about his days in the RAF whilst Strike went about his business, despite having no idea why he was there or the identity of the middle aged man watching, who was in fact his son.

The second patient slept through Strike’s entire twenty-minute visit, and then it was time to for the third and final room.

Strike and Brenda met Gladys Cherriman’s husband outside and Strike introduced himself. Gladys’ granddaughter had been present when he’d fitted the devices, although Gladys herself had been in the day room at the time. Brenda knocked the door and popped her head round to see Gladys in bed, staring at the television without any real signs of engagement. Len gave a small, sad smile at the sight of her as he entered the room.

“And the engineer’s back to finish mending the smoke alarm and clock,” Brenda told her, ushering Strike in.

At the announcement of a second person, Gladys turned her head toward the door, and in the space of a few moments, all hell broke loose. No-one could be sure exactly what she was saying or why she was reacting the way she was, but it was very clear that she was severely distressed and absolutely did not want Strike there. He removed himself quickly and waited outside the door, listening as Len and Brenda calmed and soothed her. Strike had seen many things in the course of his work, but his heart was pounding with adrenaline, and he sent a silent prayer to a god whose existence he was fairly ambivalent about, that Ted and Joan would avoid a similar fate.

Brenda eventually emerged, smiling apologetically.

“I’m sorry, that was probably my fault, should have given her longer to get used to the idea of you before sending you in. She has Lewy Body Dementia which can cause hallucinations, and Len aside, she can be particularly tricky when it come to men.”

Strike nodded, unsure whether it was inappropriate to ask the question forming in his mind. “I don’t suppose it would be a good idea to move her to the day room at the moment?”

“Absolutely not,” said Brenda firmly, but somewhat anxious. “I really don’t know what to suggest. It’ll take a while for her to calm down and I know you’ve somewhere else to be, but I need the devices removed before Tuesday. Diggory has arranged PAT testing and alarm maintenance, I can’t have the engineer finding surveillance cameras. Could you come back tomorrow?”

“No, the team is fully booked right into the evening,” he wondered if he could talk Brenda through how to remove them, given that Gladys seemed to trust her, but they were small and delicate and if they were damaged they would lose anything useful.

“I should have thought of this beforehand,” Brenda muttered ruefully, “It’s a shame you don’t have a female investigator who could do it.”

“I do, but she’s in Greece at the moment for her niece’s wedding.”

A lightbulb went off in Strike’s head. He had Robin’s number, she’d be able to remove those devices in minutes, and if anyone could work around an unwell, confused elderly lady without issue, it was her. But there was Alex and Edie, and it was Sunday morning, and they’d not spoken since the barbecue, and he’d slept with Ciara only hours previously…

_What the hell has that got to do with anything?_

He looked at the time and at Brenda’s desperate face, and with a sigh pulled out his phone.

* * *

Robin had dozed off on the sofa, book in one hand, half drunk cup of coffee in the other, and she jumped when her mobile rang. Immediately assuming it was Matthew, and something had happened with one of the children, she flicked the ‘answer’ icon without registering through sleep-fogged eyes who was calling.

“Shit!”

The call connected at the same moment she realised her coffee mug had gone flying off the sofa in her panic to reach her phone.

“Well good morning to you too.” said a sardonic voice down the phone.

“Cormoran?”

“How are you doing? Is everything alright.”

“Knocked my coffee over, answering the phone, thought you were Matthew about the kids.” It was clear from her tone that he’d woken her. “What time is it?”

“It’s gone ten.” He thought he heard a muttered ‘bugger’ down the phone, and found his mood elevating by several degrees, “I take it the kids are with Matthew?”

“Yep, until two. What do you need?”

“How do you know I need anything?”

“I’m a…” she stopped herself mirroring his words when he’d found her in the Tottenham all those years previously. She wasn’t a detective, not anymore. “…call it women’s intuition.”

He thought he knew what Robin had been about to say. Stupid really, he thought, how he could still recall the conversation so vividly after all this time. He imagined he had heard a hint of sadness in her voice and wondered if she was remembering the same thing.

“Well, if you’ve not got Alex and Edie back for a bit, how would you feel about coming out of retirement and doing me a favour this morning? It won’t take long…but I realise it’s very short notice.”

He offered the last words as a get out clause, not wanting her to feel obligated. Little did he know that before he’d even finished the word ‘favour’ Robin had been on her feet and heading for the bathroom.

“Go on…”

He explained briefly where he was and what needed doing, whilst Brenda listened in, nodding her approval. While he talked, Robin switched the shower on, grabbed a towel and laid clothes out on her bed.

“West Dulwich? Text me the postcode for sat nav and give me about an hour. I’m on my way.”

“Sorted,” Strike stated to relieved Brenda as he rang off. “Robin’s a former colleague. She’s happy to help and you can be one-hundred percent sure of her discretion. She’ll be here within the hour.”


	20. Easy Like Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin gets a boost from helping Strike with a job, followed by a catch up over coffee and cake, but her good mood is short-lived when she finds Matthew in the house on her return.

Strike was leaning against the front garden wall of St Monica’s finishing his cigarette when Robin pulled up.

“Hiya!” she called, before reaching into the back seat for her handbag.

As she made her way towards him, he could see that her hair, pulled back in a neat ponytail, was still damp from the shower, and he felt his libido twitch excruciatingly despite the previous evenings activities with Ciara.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted her, “You’re a bloody lifesaver. I’ve got no-one else who can get here tomorrow, and they have to be out before Tuesday.”

“Best get cracking then,” she grinned. It was, he thought, the happiest he’d seen her since they’d met in Kam Ellroy’s office. Even at Nick and Ilsa’s barbecue, she’d been a touch preoccupied, having only just filed for divorce. Now she reminded him so much of the Robin from nine years ago, he felt it almost physically.

Inside, Strike introduced her to Brenda, who in turn introduced her to Len. When they reached Gladys’ room, Robin shrugged off her jacket and handed it to Strike along with her handbag.

“Tools?”

He reached into his coat pocket and produce a couple of screwdrivers which she tucked into the back pocket of the stretchy slim fit jeans she was wearing before heading in to be introduced by Brenda and Len.

In the corridor, he could hear her making gentle small talk with the elderly couple, telling Gladys how lovely she was looking and joking with Len that he’d have to watch the male residents of the home as his wife was such a stunner. Through the gap on the hinged side of the door, Strike was just able to fathom that Robin had removed the camera from the bedside digital clock first and was taking the small ladder to reach the smoke alarm for the second. As she reached up to remove the cover her top rode up a little, exposing a sliver of pale stomach. Strike inhaled audibly and turned away.

In under ten minutes the job was complete, Strike’s equilibrium was somewhat restored and he, Robin and Brenda were heading back to the foyer.

“You’ve got a miracle worker here,” stated Brenda, somewhat in awe of the ease with which Robin had won over Gladys. “I suppose you’ll want to get back into this line of work, but you could definitely consider care work or nursing if you fancied a change. I’d offer you a job on the spot if I wasn’t leaving in a couple of weeks.”

Robin smiled her appreciation, stifling a giggle at Strike, who was rolling his eyes behind Brenda.

“They always offer you jobs,” he remarked as they walked down the drive, “I don’t know how you even ended up temping when you came to me.”

“Just fate, I suppose,” Robin opened the car door with her key fob, “Do you need a lift to the station?”

Strike hesitated for a moment.

“Actually, I wondered if you fancied a coffee or some lunch? I owe you one for this morning.”

Robin scrutinised her watch for a minute, partly mindful of the time before she needed to be home for the children’s return, partly to hide the grin that was threatening to give away her pleasure that he’d asked. She’d hoped there might be time for a catch up and it was only quarter to twelve.

“That’d be lovely. So long as I’m off by one. I saw a nice bakery with a café at the end of the road…”

Ten minutes later they were settled at a table by the window in the Dulwich Bakery, two steaming mugs of coffee and two slabs of cake in front of them. The conversation stilled for a moment, Strike knowing what he wanted to ask but not quite sure if he dared. He chewed a large mouthful of coffee and walnut cake thoughtfully and swallowed.

“How’s the divorce going?”

Robin sighed. “It’s not.”

Strike felt his heart plummet into his shoes, a roll of nausea in his stomach. It was like being catapulted back in time to Robin’s kitchen in Hastings Road. He’d sat up most of the night before, carefully timed his arrival to coincide with Matthew’s departure, then as she turned around to confront the ‘intruder’ he saw something shining in the sunlight that made his heart sink. Not the kitchen knife she’d picked up for self-defence, but her engagement ring, back in situ, taunting him.

_This far and no further…_

She glanced up from picking the pearl sugar off the top of her slice of lemon drizzle cake.

“Did Ilsa not tell you? He’s contesting it. He’s even denied committing adultery…prick.”

Strike knew he shouldn’t feel relieved, that he shouldn’t be experiencing a rush of euphoria akin to having knocked back a tumbler of whisky rather than a mouthful of Americano. He quickly schooled his features into an expression that he hoped was slightly less likely to convey ‘thank God you’ve not taken him back’.

“How the fuck is he managing that?”

Robin shrugged. “No evidence as such. Aside from the shred of condom wrapper I found, which is long gone now, and a single purchase on his account that he could easily explain away, there’s no trace of what he’s been up to with Sarah.”

_Or the others…_

A dark look washed over Strike’s face as he recalled the memory stick of images locked securely in his office safe. Thank fuck she hadn’t found that evidence at least. What he had in his possession would be more than enough to confirm Cunliffe’s adultery - he would only need to show her what was absolutely necessary, she didn’t need to see the other photos. Still he hoped it wouldn’t come to that and he chose his next words with care.

“So, what happens next? You’ve spoken to Kam I take it?”

Robin nodded through a mouthful of cake, which she washed down with a gulp of hazelnut latte.

“Yeah. He has three weeks from receiving the petition to submit his case to the family court, so I should know what he’s playing at by Friday. Kam thinks he’s just winding me up, trying to be difficult. If he doesn’t submit by the end of the week I can go ahead anyway.”

Strike nodded. It seemed more than likely that Cunliffe was just being a prize arsehole for the sake of it. He hoped so.

“Anyway, on the upside at least I’ve got a potential job offer,” she grinned, referring to Brenda’s statement as they’d left St Monica’s.

“Christ, you wouldn’t want to work somewhere like that would you? I mean it’s great there are people that do it and do it well and I’m sure you’d be one of them but...”

“No, but I’ll have to start considering my options. Edie starts school in eighteen months. Between my savings and whatever settlement I get I should be able to stay at home until then, and after that, I guess I’ll look for some kind of admin role in a school. It’ll be the easiest thing to manage what with all the school holidays and being on my own.”

“You might not be on your own in eighteen months,” pointed out Strike, taking a mouthful of coffee to avoid meeting her eye. It wouldn’t be him, he thought stoically, but there would be someone.

“You must be joking!” exclaimed Robin. “Nearly eighteen years with Matthew. I’ve already done a life sentence. I’m not going down that road again any time soon.”  
Strike laughed despite himself.

“I must admit I’m a bit surprised that you gave up work completely,” he admitted.

Robin licked her fingertip and used it to pick up the pearl sugar she’d left on the side of her plate, popped it in her mouth and crunched distractedly.

“It wasn’t really something I planned. I went back part-time after Alex, it was a pretty boring job but I was good at it and it was something just for me. Then when I fell pregnant with Edie, Matthew started mithering* me to give up work. He’d just been promoted, had to work away more often. He said it would be easier to manage. Edie was…” she paused, “…a happy accident.”

Strike looked at her over the rim of his mug, there was something in the pause, something in the tone of her voice and the choice of her words. She looked back at him. It was none of his business, he didn’t need to know…she remembered his tip when she’d first started working for him – let the silence do the work - and sighed.

“Edie was a happy accident – in herself. But the timing…I was considering leaving him even then.”

“Did he know?”

“No. I’d not long started looking into how to go about it when I found out I was pregnant again, and that was that.”

Strike’s mind went fleetingly to Charlotte, to all the years he’d wondered of the baby she claimed to be his had actually been a casualty of her plan to leave him for Jago Ross, if it’s loss had been an act of God or if it had even existed in the first place. He had eventually discovered that the latter was true. She had lied, plain and simple, like so many other times, only on a much, much larger scale. He realised with a start that Robin was still speaking.

“…and it was only after Christmas that they diagnosed it. Severe post-natal depression. Edie was nearly four months by then. Mum came and stayed with us for a bit, I got better, started to really bond with her. Matthew was so anti me going back to work, and by that point I didn’t want to either. I’d missed so much already.”

“That’s understandable. I know Lucy struggled a bit after her youngest was born. I didn’t really know anything about it at the time, but I remember Ted and Joan being quite worried about her. You made the right choice for you and your daughter.”

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t mind giving up work so much as my course.”

“Your course?”

“I’d joined the OU, trying to finish my psychology degree. I was so nearly there – two more terms and I’d have made it.”

“You could pick it up again…the points carry over don’t they?”

“Hmmm, maybe.” She checked her watch. “Bugger, I’d better get going. If Matthew gets back before me…”

She didn’t need to say it. Strike knew the last thing she needed was Cunliffe questioning her or giving him any further ammunition. They made their way out onto the pavement.

“Sure you don’t want a lift back to the station?” Robin asked.

“Nah, it’s the opposite way,” he replied, waving in the general direction of Park Hall Road, “I’ll have a stroll. Thank you again for your help this morning. I really do appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” she smiled up at him, “Really.”

He grinned back. “Careful Ellacott, I might just hold you to that.”

“Promise?” She was pulling her car keys out of her bag.

Strike chuckled and bent down to kiss her on the cheek, just as Robin raised her head to look at him. For a split second their lips met before they both pulled away, awkward and embarrassed.

“God…sorry,” mumbled Strike.

“S’fine,” replied Robin, trying to suppress a strange and inappropriate urge to giggle. “Call me if you need me again, won’t you?”

“Will do.”

He was already heading off towards the station, slightly breathless for reasons that he suspected had nothing to do with the exertion of an uphill walk on his prosthesis.

* * *

Robin was still smiling as she pulled into her street three-quarters of an hour later. The surprise of Strike’s call, the satisfaction of a job well done and the chat over coffee and cake and now the impending arrival home of Alex and Edie had put her in an excellent mood. That was it, just those things... Then as she turned into the driveway she saw Matthew’s car already there, and her euphoria popped like a particularly fragile bubble. He was early and had obviously let himself into the house with the children.

Her stomach lurched as she tried to recall if she had left anything laying around that she wouldn’t want him seeing. She was fairly certain she hadn’t. Alex was an excellent reader so for that reason as much as any she was diligent about tidying up after doing any paperwork relating to the divorce.

As she entered the hallway, Matthew was coming down the stairs.

“Edie’s lost her bunny,” he immediately headed Robin off. “I thought it might be in her bedroom, but I couldn’t see it.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t okay, thought Robin. Edie hadn’t asked for rainbow bunny for weeks and there was no need for Matthew to be upstairs.

“Where have you been?”

“Out.” She was damned if she was going to explain herself to him.

“If that’s the way you want to play it.”

“I’m not the one playing games Matthew,” replied Robin, trying to keep her tone light. “You weren’t due back until two.”

“You complain if I’m late back, now you’re moaning that I’m early,” he huffed. “Alex…Edie…Daddy’s going now.”

The children both came out and hugged their father goodbye, before greeting Robin and dragging her into the sitting room for cuddles and to tell her about their sleepover.  
Matthew, meanwhile, slid into his Audi and began the drive back to Deptford. He’d only been on the road a few minutes when his phone rang. He hit the hands-free button and answered.

“Hi, Matt Cunliffe speaking.”

“It’s me,” said a gruff voice at the other end of the line, “I’ve got some more for you, and they’re dynamite.”

“Go on.” Matthew’s voice was steady, but his knuckles were whitening as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Well, we can proceed as planned, up front or…we can do it another way. A way that won’t implicate you at all.”

Matt nodded to himself as he took a corner at slightly higher speed than was ideal. This guy was worth every penny.

“Right, well send me what you have and let me know your plan and I’ll call you once I’m home.”

“Make sure you do. If you want to go with my suggestion, I’ll need to get the ball rolling ASAP.”

“Understood.”

Matthew pressed the button on the steering wheel to cut the call. Robin's comment about him 'playing games' was still echoing in his ears. If she thought he was going down without a fight, she had another thing coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mithering...Yorkshire for nagging


	21. Gloves off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew takes his first devious steps in fighting back against Robin's divorce petition, throwing a curve ball into Strike's life at the same time.

Robin spent the remainder of Sunday afternoon enjoying what was left of the weekend with Alex and Edie. They went for a walk in Richmond Park before snuggling on the sofa and watching a film with cups of hot chocolate bobbing with marshmallows. The children sat at the kitchen table and Facetimed their grandparents, laughing at Betty’s attention seeking antics while their mother cooked dinner. It was only later that evening, once they were both bathed and sleeping peacefully, that Robin allowed the sense of unease she had been trying to keep at bay all afternoon to settle over her.

It had always bothered her that Matthew continued to let himself into the house, and that there was nothing she could do about it, but she had always been there when it happened. It had never occurred to her that might access her home whilst she was out, and although she knew it made sense that he’d let himself and the children in today, it also made her wonder if he’d done it before.

She’d slipped upstairs after he’d left, checking for any indication that he might have been snooping but found nothing, save her wardrobe door being slightly ajar, which she easily could have done herself in her haste to meet up with Strike that morning. Inside, everything was hanging exactly as usual.

She shook her head, telling herself she was just being paranoid, that today’s behaviour had just been another tactic to unsettle her in the run up to the deadline for his appeal. For a few minutes, Robin deliberated over whether to call Kath and vent, but eventually decided it was too late to call her pregnant friend and settled for retiring to bed with a mug of camomile tea and her new book.

* * *

Strike awoke from a fitful sleep in the early hours of Monday morning. He’d been dreaming all manner of strange and mixed up scenarios involving Robin, Ciara and even a fleeting guest appearance by Charlotte, and was deeply relieved to wake up in his own bed, alone. He reached for his mobile, saw the time was only just after half past four and faceplanted back into his pillows, ignoring the various notification icons along the top of his screen.

Little more than two hours later, he was woken again, this time by his phone ringing.

“Fuck’s sake!” Strike reached for his phone, barely opening his eyes to flick his thumb across the green icon to answer the call. “Strike,” he barked, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Oggy, it’s Nick. I’m outside…”

He was fully awake in seconds.

“What’s happened? Is Ilsa okay? The kids?”

“Yeah, they’re fine, can you open the door mate, it’s pissing down out here. I’ve got something you need to see.”

Strike rang off, pulled on a t-shirt and boxers, grabbed his crutches and headed down the hall. Nick had tucked himself as far onto the doorstep as usual, still in his scrubs, a large bundle of what appeared to be newpapers tucked under his coat. Strike eyed them warily.

“Is this what I need to see?” He indicated with a nod of his head.

“’Fraid so.”

Nick followed him through to the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar while Strike filled up the kettle and spooned coffee into mugs.

“What the hell are you doing over here at this time in the morning?”

Strike’s apartment was a good half hour drive from the hospital where Nick worked.

“I’d just finished a night shift, came out via the shop for a sandwich and the girl on the counter was reading the paper…”

“Right let’s see then,” sighed Strike. It had been a while since he’d been of any interest to the media. His cases, whilst lucrative, had not involved any serious criminality for a considerable time, and having not had a relationship to speak of for several years, there was really nothing to say about him, which was just the way he liked it. He could only assume that his visit to Ciara at the weekend hadn’t gone unnoticed. It took him a moment, therefore, to process what he was seeing laid out before him on the kitchen counter.

> **Lightning Strikes Twice?**   
>    
>  **After years apart, it appears that one-legged war hero and celebrity PI, Cormoran Strike has reunited with his flame-haired former assistant, Robin Ellacott, but is it for business or pleasure? A reliable source has shared photographic evidence that seems to suggest the latter.**
> 
> **Miss Ellacott, latterly Mrs Robin Cunliffe, left Strike’s agency under a cloud at the dénouement of the Shacklewell Ripper case back in 2011 but the pair have clearly made their peace. Now a mother of two young children, Mrs Cunliffe has recently filed for divorce from her husband, accountant Matthew, and seems more than ready to move on.**
> 
> **A source close to Mr Cunliffe said: “Matt is devastated that this has come to light. He had high hopes that he and Robin could work through their difficulties and repair their marriage. He didn’t know that Strike was even back on the scene, let alone involved with his children.”**
> 
> **Strike has failed to hold down a long-term relationship since his turbulent 16 years with aristocratic former wild child Charlotte Campbell came to an end a decade ago. They say a leopard never changes its spots, but perhaps his former employee will be the woman to tame him for good.**
> 
> **Both Cormoran Strike and Mrs Cunliffe were unavailable for comment.**

Accompanying the articles were three photos, two of which had been taken just the previous day. One showed Robin reaching across the table. She’d been laughingly trying to tell Strike where he had a blob of coffee buttercream caught in his beard, but the angle the photo had been taken from made it look as though she was caressing his cheek. The second photo had managed to catch the brief second or two when their lips had met on saying their goodbyes. The final photo had been taken weeks earlier at dusk in Octavia Street. It showed Robin in a khaki shirt dress holding Alex’s hand as she approached her car, whilst Strike stood behind her, a sleeping Edie snuggled into his chest.

Nick watched his friend’s expression change from one of shock to disbelief to fury.

“Not available for comment, my arse!” he spat, as he reached the end of the article.

“Do you think you’ve been followed?” Nick queried. “I can’t see how anyone could have got photos like that by accident.”

“No,” Strike stated angrily, “I think Robin’s being followed, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who’s behind this bullshit.”

“You’re not…y’know, then?”

“Seriously Nick?!”

“Okay, it’s just you two do look…and there might have been developments since we last saw you.”

“Well there bloody hasn’t been. She helped me with a job yesterday and we went for a coffee afterwards. That…” he stabbed his finger at the photo of them kissing, “…was about half a second when I bent to kiss her cheek and missed because she turned her head to get her keys out of her bag.”

“Disappointing…” mused Nick, grinning slightly.

Strike was not amused.

“I should probably call Robin and warn her but…she’ll be getting the kids to school. The last thing she needs is a bombshell like this. I’ll call her after nine.”

Nick nodded and yawned. “Well, if you’re alright I’m gonna make a move, need to get back for the school run myself before I collapse into bed.”

And with that, he headed for the door, leaving Strike brooding over a pile of newpapers, his laptop and a very large, very strong coffee.

* * *

Robin arrived at school just as the classroom doors were being opened. Now that Alex was in his final term of Year 2, he and his friends were being encouraged to make their own way in rather than be delivered to the door by parents, before joining Key Stage 3 in September. Robin, with Edie in her arms, waved to him as he disappeared into the throng of small children, watching until she saw him through the double door and safely into the building. As he turned and waved back, she noticed several parents’ heads turn in her direction and wondered briefly if she should have walked him a little closer to his classroom.

Shaking the thought from her head, she put Edie back down, took her hand and together they began the walk across the lower and upper school playgrounds to the annexe building that housed the nursery and pre-school. As they chatted about what Edie might do with her friends, and whether it might be one of her favourite lunches that day, Robin had a strange sense of being watched.

She rang the doorbell for entry and waited for the arrival of Edie’s key carer to welcome her in. Bethany was in her early twenties, and like Robin hailed from a family of all brothers something they had bonded over from their first chat in the very early days of Edie’s attendance. Today, she seemed flustered and awkward.

“Everything okay?” Robin asked, concerned.

“Fine, just…you know…Monday morning.” She flashed a false smile. “C’mon then Edie, we’ve got the playdough out and it’s tuna pasta bake for lunch, your favourite.”

Making her way across the playground back to her car, Robin couldn’t shake the sensation that something wasn’t quite right, a feeling what was only enhanced when she spotted Angela McCarthy, the head of the PTA heading towards her. They’d worked together briefly the previous year when Robin had taken over the accounts due to the usual treasurer leaving at short notice.

Angela loved the sound of her own voice and was most definitely the type to gossip, so when she blew off Robin’s greeting with a “Sorry, can’t stop, busy morning,” it unsettled her even further.

It was only when she got back to her car and began the journey to the supermarket for the weekly shop, she discovered why. She flicked the radio on just in time to listen to the news review section of the breakfast show.

> **“And it look’s like Cormoran Strike’s been a naughty boy again,” said the cockney voice of the male presenter, “…it’s usually half-naked female celebrities that take pride of place on the Daily Mail’s sidebar of shame, but I guess having a fling with your married former business partner will tick their boxes…”**
> 
> **“Can’t blame her, mind you,” added his female counterpart, “He’s a bit rough around the edges but I definitely would!”**

_Fuck!_

Robin flicked off the radio, pulled over and took out her phone. She Googled Strike’s name and her own and scrolled, open-mouthed as link after link appeared on her screen to various versions of the same story, then she went to her contacts and called Strike, who answered immediately.

“Robin, I was just…”

“You’ve seen the news I take it?”

“Yes…”

“It’s him isn’t it? It’s got to be. Bloody Matthew. He’s set this up and he’ll use it in his response, how the hell am I going to…”

“Robin, Robin…stop. Take a breath, calm down.”

She did as Strike instructed despite being angry at how calm he sounded, unaware that he’d already had three hours to get his head around the situation.

“Right, now listen. Given the nature of these photos and the timescale they were taken over, it’s possible someone is,” he paused, certain he was right, not wanting to say it, “It’s possible…likely…that someone’s been tailing you for the last few weeks. Have you noticed anyone hanging around at all?”

Robin thought, he was right of course, it had occurred to he immediately but she hadn’t had time to fully process what it meant yet. She frowned as she tried to recall if she’d seen anything suspicious, her training was rusty, after all there wasn’t much call for counter-surveillance as a stay at home mum in the London suburbs.

“No, nothing. Well, only…but it can’t be.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’ve not noticed anyone hanging around, but I’ve run into a guy on two or three occasions recently round my way. It can’t be him though. He’s retired, does a bit of dog walking for pocket money so he usually has a yappy little terrier with him. He did have a camera on him on one occasion, but that’s his hobby, he told me to check out his Instagram account. Apparently he’s a bit of silver surfer,” she laughed.

Retired…silver hair…alarm bells were clanging in Strike’s head.

“What does he look like? Specifically...as much as you can remember.” He silently prayed he was wrong, but deep down he knew already who was responsible for the photos.

“Late fifties, early sixties. Tall, broad, beer belly. Light grey hair, thick but receeding a bit, glasses. He seems like a nice guy to talk to, but you wouldn’t think it to look at him – bad skin and a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.”

She heard Strike sigh heavily at the end of the phone.

“Mitch fucking Patterson, I might have known.”

Robin remembered the name immediately.

“Oh shit!”

“And you know who his cousin is don’t you?”

“Should I?”

“Leo Patterson…as in Landry, May, Patterson.”

“I guess we know which solicitor Matthew’s using then,” Robin said drily. There was silence for a few moments. “God this is hopeless.”

Strike voice was gentle at the other end of the phone.

“Don’t say that Robin. I know this is a setback, but Kam knows her stuff, and Matthew is an accountant…there’s only so much money he’s going to be willing to throw away to try and make your life difficult.”

Robin snorted with laughter. He may actually have a point, she thought.

“Just wait and see what happens when you get his defence, if you even get one.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” She gathered herself. “Right, Sainsbury’s beckons. Are you okay?”

“Why would I not be.”

“Well, I know you don’t like being in the paper and…” she couldn’t say it, could she? “I wouldn’t want those pictures to cause trouble for you, you know, if you’re seeing someone.”

“I’m not.”

Strike was sure he heard what sounded like a sigh of relief at the other end of the line.

“Right, good.”

“Good. So, keep in touch. If you need to blow off some steam, you’ve got my number.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

“You too.”


	22. Returning Salvo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran deliberates over what to do with the photos from the laptops.  
> Robin and Kam receive Matthew's response to the divorce petition.

Monday evening saw Strike making his way down a grimy back street in one of the few areas of Peckham that had yet to be gentrified by property developers. It had been an unusually warm day and as he picked his way through various piles of litter and dog excrement he was enveloped with muggy drizzle which was certainly indicative of his current mood.

He pushed open the shabbily painted red door beneath a cheap illuminated sign “Snooker Club” and made his way up the narrow staircase covered in sticky, gaudily patterned carpet with the help of the somewhat precariously fixed handrail. He spotted the figure he sought immediately behind the bar, characteristically smart for the role he was currently playing of ‘mein host’ in black trousers, white shirt and braces. His weathered and scarred face nonetheless giving away something of his other, less legitimate activities.

“Bunsen, how the devil are you? Silly question, I’ve seen the news today, ya lucky bastard.”

Strike gave him a warning glare.

“Or not then. What’s occurring?”

“Give us a pint of London Pride mate…and you better crack that open too,” he indicated a new, litre bottle of Famous Grouse standing by a set of optics behind the bar.

“That bad, eh? Sit your arse down and tell uncle Shanker all about it.”

Strike hoisted himself onto a bar stool and did exactly that, starting from the beginning and ending with Matthew’s opening salvo in his defence against Robin’s divorce petition.

“Cheeky fucker…do you want me to sort him out?”

Shanker was incensed, not only on his friend’s behalf, but because he had been very fond of Robin back in the day. Not only did she remind him, in character at least, of the woman who had taken him in off the streets and probably saved his life, but he respected her bravery where Brockbank had been concerned, and appreciated the fact she’d come to him for help when other women might have recoiled from a pot smoking cockney with a reputation for criminality.

“No Shanker, I do not want you to sort him out…not after last time.”

There had been an incident with Jeff Whittaker a few years previously, not at Strike’s behest, but he’d been the one to pick up the pieces. Shanker had just about escaped with his life and the malevolent scum had finally gone down. He’d been stabbed to death during a prison riot the following year, thus removing at least one thorn from Strike’s side.

“So what ya telling me all this for then? I’m hardly one to ask for legal advice, and you know I’d be more than happy…”

“The thing is, I’ve got pictures that will put an end to his shit, but if I take them to the solicitor Robin will probably have to see them. I don’t know whether I should confront him in the hopes he’ll back down…”

“What kind of pictures?” Shanker had a lascivious grin on his face as he asked the question.

Strike shook his head at him. “Those kind of pictures…but, well…let’s just say it appears Matthew’s tastes weren’t as vanilla as his bland accountant’s exterior might lead you to believe. It’s not pretty.”

Shanker watched his friend’s face curiously. Strike looked genuinely troubled and Shanker was jumping to all sorts of conclusions, fury pumping through his veins. Petty criminal he may be, but he had his standards, and if that fucker was…

Strike caught sight of Shanker’s expression.

“It’s alright it’s nothing like that…all perfectly legal…ish. Just morally fucked up.”

Shanker poured them both a third large measure of Scotch.

“I know I said I’m not one for legal advice, but the thing is with a cunt like that, if you approach him he’ll probably find a way to drop you in the shit...”

Strike nodded morosely. He’d come to Shanker because in his shabby little club, he could guarantee his privacy and talk freely about his feelings around the situation. He’d also had a vague, crazy idea that he might be able to get Shanker to confront Matthew, but judging from his reaction, that would be extremely unwise.

“Right,” said Strike, getting to his feet, “Best be off, I’ve got a call to make first thing.”

“Right you are, see ya Bunsen.”

Strike raised a hand in farewell as he headed out of the door and back onto the sticky staircase.

* * *

The axe fell on Friday morning, as anticipated. Kam receiving Matthew’s response to Robin’s divorce petition via DX when she arrived at her desk at 8am.  
Robin was spared her copy of the missive for an hour longer, finding the thick, expensive looking envelope on her doormat after returning from the school run. It was largely as she suspected, but the lies contained with Matthew’s statement were still breath-taking in their magnitude.

> _My wife and I separated following an argument in February when she accused me of adultery with a woman I know from my university days. This is something I refute entirely.  
> _   
>  _I believe my wife’s paranoia may have arisen as a result of her mental health problems, from which she has suffered since the early days of our relationship, and most recently after the birth of our daughter, when we had to seek external support in order for her to be able to cope with the children._
> 
> _I moved out of the family home under duress from my brother-in-law, in an attempt to give my wife some time and ‘breathing space’ and throughout this difficult period. I hoped that this would encourage her to seek help for her issues._
> 
> _Since then, she appears to have engaged in a relationship with her former boss (as evidenced by the enclosed news reports), which I believe has been the catalyst for her filing for divorce, due not to my (imagined) adultery, but her own infidelity.  
>   
>  Still I do not wish to lose my much-loved wife and family. _ _I have made numerous attempts to discuss our relationship with the aim of finding a resolution to our problems, but they have been met with a flat refusal to engage on my wife’s part._
> 
> _I categorically do not wish to divorce and feel that my wife has rushed into proceedings without investigating other the options that are available to us, such as relationship counselling and further support for her emotional well-being._
> 
> _I ask therefore that the petition be dismissed at the current time to enable us to engage with mediation with a view to repairing our marriage and enabling our children to grow up in the stable family environment they deserve._

A date for a hearing in the family court had been set for Friday 15th May.

Robin seethed quietly over her cup of tea, taking deep breaths in between sips in an attempt to calm herself before calling her solicitor. In the end she didn’t need to, Kam was on the phone before her mug was empty.

“Good morning Robin. How are you doing? I assume you’ve received Matthew’s response to the divorce petition now?”

“Yes, I was just about to call you.”

“Right, well obviously the bad news is that we will now have to respond in some way…”

“You mean prepare for this court hearing?” Robin tried not to let her voice crack as she spoke, but now she was discussing it with Kam it all seemed so much more real. She was aware of heart pounding in her chest, that her hands were shaking.

There was pause at the other end of the phone.

“Robin, it may not come to that. There is some good news too…as these things go. After the news article on Monday, I received a call from Cormoran...” at the other end of the line

Robin frowned, puzzled. “When his colleague looked into your laptops for documents indicating financial wrongdoing, he also found evidence that would enable us to prove Matthew was committing adultery prior to your separation.”

Robin felt a wave of relief wash over her, rapidly followed intense sense of apprehension.

“When you say evidence, what exactly are we talking about here?”

Kam had had plenty of experience breaking difficult news to people much more fragile than Robin. Still she had to steel herself slightly to continue the conversation. This would have been better in person, but equally maybe too much for her client to take in at once.

“Mr Herbert discovered photos of an intimate nature on both laptops,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Both laptops? But he only met up with Sarah again last year, at a reunion…”

She heard a sigh at Kam’s end of the line. She hadn’t chosen her words carefully enough.

“I haven’t seen the photos as yet or the dates they were taken, so I don’t know the details. Cormoran has offered to come over late this afternoon and go through them with me. Would you be able to come in then, say about four-thirty?”

Kam had planned to leave early that evening, but curiosity had gotten the better of her when Strike had said it was only time he could make, and she’d rarely dealt with someone quite as malicious and devious as Cunliffe. She was thoroughly looking forward to being the one to deliver his comeuppance, preferably sooner rather than later.

“I’ll have to see what I can do about childcare. Can I call you back?”

“Sure, just let me know as soon as you can.”

Robin rang off and immediately called Kathy.

“What favour can I do for you today Ms Ellacott-to-be?” she answered good-naturedly.

“Oh God, I’m sorry Kath…I know I’m taking the mickey, but I’ve just had a call from the solicitor. There were photos on the laptop of Matthew with Sarah. They can prove he was having an affair, possibly for even longer than I thought. If I can get there for a half four appointment today we can get on the case immediately with shutting his defence down.”

“I was teasing, you know I’m happy to help you out…”

“Yeah, but I know I’ve been taking advantage too much lately. If you’ve got plans or it’s not convenient I’m sure I can go in sometime next week.”

“And have you fretting all over the weekend…it’s pizza night tomorrow, I need you on top form. Do you want to the pick the kids up from school or shall I get them and bring them back for tea?”

“If you don’t mind picking up that’ll be great, I’ll call the office and let them know. Thank you. I owe you one…again.”

“I know…seriously though, you go and see your solicitor and whup the bastard’s arse.”

“I’ll try,” Robin grinned.


	23. Collateral Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin meets Strike and Kam to find out more about the photos on Matthew's laptops. The depth of his deception is instantly apparent, but when curiosity gets the better of her she is totally unprepared for what she discovers next. Thankfully Strike is there to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains description of some fairly extreme (albeit in this case, consensual) sex acts which some readers may find unpleasant or upsetting.
> 
> There isn't an appropriate tick box on the 'Warnings' but I have changed to rating to 'E' accordingly.

Robin checked her reflection in the mirror before leaving for her appointment with Kam that afternoon. She was determined that whatever she had to see, it would not break her. She knew Matthew had been unfaithful. She knew it wasn’t the first time. Whatever was to come that afternoon, she vowed, she would deal with it with strength and dignity and see it as just another step on the road to independence.

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, adjusted her necklace and smoothed down the navy linen shift dress she’d chosen, picked up her bag and left the house.

Strike was already seated when Kam showed her into a small meeting room a few doors down from her usual office. Three glasses and a jug of cold water sat in the centre of the table, alongside a newly opened box of tissues, and Robin found herself wondering idly if this was normal procedure or if they had been placed there for her benefit. Her stomach gave a nauseating flip, despite her earlier determination.

“Cormoran, do you want to tell Robin what it is you found on the laptops?” Kam suggested as she settled into her seat.

Strike fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew this would hurt Robin and he didn’t enjoy hurting people, especially those he cared about. He saw her eyes flicker between him and the laptop he had in front of him, a small blue memory stick plugged in on one side.

“Robin,” he began, his voice quieter and deeper than she’d heard it before. “I want you know that the reason I didn’t tell you about these photos is that I hoped there would never be a need for you to see them. Still, knowing how devious Matthew had been about the finances, I kept copies of the files just in case, with the intention of destroying them once your divorce was finalised.”

Kam was sat at the head of the table, Strike and Robin on either side. She felt a strong sense that something she was not entirely party to was going on between them, over and above the history that had been referred to in their first meeting.

Robin nodded. “Go on.”

“There are photos of Matthew and Sarah dating back to spring of 2012,” he saw Robin’s eyes widen in shock, “I’m sorry.”

And he was sorry for the pain he knew he was causing her in that moment. But he was not sorry that she now knew beyond a shadow of doubt what a deceitful, faithless bastard her husband was. He wasn’t sorry that the information he was giving her would make a reconciliation impossible. He wasn’t sorry that the end result would be Robin gaining her freedom, and that maybe that freedom would lead to…

_Stop it._

“Can I see?”

Strike glanced at Kam, who nodded her agreement, and he turned the laptop around to face Robin. Knowing his former partner, and suspecting that she would ask that very question, Strike had found the least overtly sexual image and had it ready for her enquiry. Still he didn’t relinquish his possession of the laptop.  
Robin’s eyes scanned the screen, impassive as she took in the details of what was in front of her. It was clearly a selfie, taken by Matthew, his arm raised above the bed he shared with Sarah Shadlock. The were laying back against a pile of spotless, hotel-perfect white pillows, Matt’s chestnut hair unusually tousled, Sarah flushed, bright eyed and wearing a clearly post-coital grin.

Robin inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together in an attempt to stem the traitorous prickle behind her eyelids. Then she saw it, the date watermarked in the corner – 19.09.16, the day before Edie was born. She exhaled with a huff and flicked away the tear that had escaped against her will. She hadn’t been happy then either and it was all in the past now anyway. What did it matter?

Strike felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He’d hoped to protect her by showing her that photo, incriminating enough to do the job, nowhere near as graphic as the others. He knew her reaction was only to be expected, but he still felt like he’d failed. Before he could apologise again, his phone went off in his pocket.

Wardle

“I’m really sorry, it’s the MET, I’m going to have to pop out and take this.”

He got to his feet and left the office, answering the call as he went. Robin could still see him through the slatted blinds that partially obscured the glass wall panel, talking animatedly to his contact.

“Are you okay, Robin?” Kam asked, pushing the tissues across the table. “Can I get you anything?”

Robin looked down at the tissue that she’d robotically taken from the box and saw that her hands were shaking.

“A cup of tea would be good.”

“No problem.”

Strike had his back to the door and didn’t immediately register that the sound behind him was Kam leaving the room. It was only when the door clicked shut that he realised that Robin was alone in the meeting room with the laptop. The unsecured laptop.

Instinctively he glanced through the blinds and saw, as he knew he would, that Robin had pulled the machine across the table, and her fingers were hovering over the mouse pad.

“Eric, I’ve gotta go…” Strike cut the call and threw himself through the door.

The colour was already draining from Robin’s face as he reached to take back the laptop, but she wouldn’t relinquish it.

“Robin, you don’t need to see the rest of them, please give it to me...”

But it was too late. He’d only been able to guess initially which folder of photos she’d opened, but he knew now beyond any doubt what she was looking at. She let out a visceral howl of shock as her skin went from pale to chalk white in a split second. Her hand flew to her mouth and she retched violently, then stumbled to her feet and flew out of the room, colliding with an incoming Kam who was splattered with steaming tea as she hurtled into the toilets opposite.

“Ouch, shit!” she turned to Strike. “What happened?”

“You left her alone with the fucking pictures,” said Strike through gritted teeth, furious not with Kam, but with himself for not removing the worst ones from the memory stick before coming to the meeting. He’d had every intention of doing so, but had been held up on a surveillance job and not had time before heading across London to the solicitor’s offices.

“Christ, I know it’s her husband but she already knew he was being unfaithful, surely she’s seen sex pics before,” muttered Kam crossly, dabbing at her jacket with a handful of tissues as she spun the laptop round with the other hand. “Fucking hell!”

On the left-hand side of the screen was an open folder showing thumbnails not only of Matthew in several extremely compromising positions with Sarah Shadlock, but also of an assortment of hardcore BDSM pornography, featuring various women bound and gagged. The bottom row of thumbnails appeared to be screenshots taken from video of Matthew indulging in similar activities with a petite brunette.

On the right hand of the screen was the thumbnail Robin had opened. The petite brunette was kneeling at the end of a wrought iron bedstead, blindfolded and naked apart from what appeared to be a complicated studded leather truss. Her wrists were cuffed to the bedframe and Matthew was kneeling immediately behind her, also naked. His right arm was wound around her waist pulling her against him, his left hand, wedding ring clearly visible, was wrapped around her throat.

“Sick bastard,” tutted Kam, shaking her head.

“You don’t know the half of it,” growled Strike, through clenched teeth, not taking his eyes off the bathroom door as he debated how long to wait before going in. Kam looked at him, puzzled.

“It’s not my story to tell,” he shot back.

“Has Cunliffe tried…”

“No, well, not that I know of. I guess that’s why he took his fantasies elsewhere,” he sighed. 

They waited a few more minutes and still Robin didn’t emerge. Kam headed across the landing and knocked on the toilet door.

“Robin, it’s Kam, I know this sounds ridiculous but are you okay in there?”

No reply.

“I know you’ve had a horrible shock, we don’t need to discuss anything else for today, but why don’t you come out and have your tea?”

Nothing.

She returned to the meeting room with a rueful shrug of her shoulders. It was a quarter to six now, this wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her Friday night. On the table Robin’s phone rang. It was Kathy.

Strike answered.

“Robin’s phone, Cormoran Strike speaking.”

“Oh! Hi. Is Robin not there? I’m her friend, I’ve got Alex and Edie at the moment, was just wondering when she’ll be home.”

“Hi Kathy. Um, Robin’s had a bit of a shock and she can’t come to the phone right now. Can I get her to call you shortly?”

“Yeah, sure. Is she okay?”

 _I hope so._  
  
“Yeah, she will be, just needs to get herself together a bit.”

“Okay, well just…tell her the kids are fine, there’s no rush to pick them up, and get her to call me when she can.”

“I will, thanks Kathy.”

Robin still hadn’t emerged from the toilet. Steeling himself, Strike left the meeting room, crossed the landing and knocked on the door.

“Robin…it’s Cormoran…can I come in?”

He could hear faint noises from behind the door, although she didn’t reply. Tentatively, he tried the handle. It was unlocked. He opened the door a crack and was just able to see Robin sitting on the floor.

“Robin, I’m coming in, okay?”

He stepped into an area approximately five feet square, housing a wash basin on a vanity unit with a mirror above, a waste bin, a hand towel dispenser and a hand dryer. Beyond was heavy door to the only toilet cubicle. Robin was sitting on the right, opposite the basin, her arms around her knees which were tucked up under her chin. Her skin was pale and clammy, eyes glassy and her shoulders rose and fell rapidly as she struggled for air. Underlying the scent of the expensive reed diffuser on the windowsill was the unmistakeable smell of vomit.

Strike had seen sights a hundred – a thousand – times worse than the scene before him during his time in the military, but none of those had been personal. For moment he felt as if someone had just ripped his heart out with a pitchfork. Then his training kicked in.

“I’m going to come down and sit with you,” he told her, lowering himself awkwardly and painfully into the cramped space next to her. Close up he could see that she was shivering violently, and he shrugged his jacket off.

“Can you lean forward for me a minute? Robin...Robin...I need you to lean forward?”

On the second time of asking, she looked at him briefly, as if she wasn’t quite sure why he was there, but she complied, and he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders.

“Robin, look at me…” she turned again, this time with slightly more awareness in her eyes. “Can you breathe with me…breathe in…and out…” once he had her focus, he set up a rhythm.

_Breathe in…2…3…4_   
  
_Hold…2…3…4_   
  
_Out…2…3…4…5…6…7…8_

After several minutes, Robin’s head shot up suddenly and she looked at him.

“What’s the time? The kids…I need to get home for the kids.”

“They’re fine. Kathy called, she knows you’ve been held up. Do you think you can come back to the meeting room? Have a cup of tea?”

She shook her head vigorously.

“No…no...I can’t be in the same room as… _that_.”

“Fair enough. We can go somewhere for a coffee, or a drink?”

“I just want to go home.”

Strike nodded and got precariously to his feet before helping Robin up.

“Are you sure you feel well enough to drive?”

“Yes, of course,” she began crossly, before promptly bursting into tears. “No. No I don’t think I am.”

“That’s okay, I’ll take you home.”

* * *

  
Half an hour later they were stepping through Robin’s front door, Strike having driven her home after arranging with Kam to store the memory stick safely and ensure Robin’s car wasn’t clamped in the office car park. She hadn’t spoke at all on the journey back and as they made their way to the front door Strike was unsure of what his next move should be. It seemed presumptuous to just follow her in, but he was equally uncomfortable with leaving her alone in her present state of mind.

As she slid her key in the lock, she turned to him, looking slightly awkward.

“Can you come in for a bit, just until I’ve pulled myself together a bit more…unless you’ve got plans of course?”

He smiled at her, relieved that she’d made the decision for him.

“Robin that only plan I’ve got this evening is making sure you’re okay.”

Her eyes were filling with tears again as she whispered her thanks.

“I really need to get changed,” she told him, “Kitchen’s that way, help yourself to tea or coffee.”

“Thanks…are you having one.”

“Please.”

It occurred to Strike as he filled the kettle and searched for teabags, mugs and spoons that this was the first time he’d really been in Robin’s space. Aside from a couple of fleeting visits when they’d worked together and the time he’d sacked her of course. It seemed strangely intimate to be surrounded by the ephemera of her day-to-day family life, whilst he made drinks and listened to the sound of the shower running in her en-suite overhead.

Robin’s kitchen ran the length of the house from front to back. The workspace itself was central to the huge room, there was a dining area at the front, and at the back a small corner sofa and coffee table made up a cosy family area, which was normally flooded by light from the panel of bi-folds that made up the wall on to the garden.

Strike cleared a handful of crayons and paper from the table to a little wooden desk against the opposite wall, placed their mugs down and located the switch on the floor lamp before taking a seat at one end of the sofa.

“Thanks,” said Robin, spotting the two steaming mugs. She was pink and scrubbed from the shower, smelling of roses, vanilla and toothpaste. Her damp hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she'd changed into clothing that he knew Ilsa would describe as ‘lounge wear’ – a pair of soft pale blue marl trousers and a matching long-sleeved top with slipper socks bedecked with pom poms on each heel. She looked exhausted as she dropped onto the opposite end of the sofa, and curled her feet up beside her. When she picked up her mug and cradled it in both hands to take a sip, Strike noticed that she was no longer shaking.

“I just can’t believe it,” she said. “How could he, knowing what happened to me…even if you were curious you just wouldn’t, would you? Oh, what the hell would I know…” she sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not as if I’m an expert in that department.”

“You should never have seen that photo, I should have stored those ones on a different memory stick. I’m sorry…”

“You have got nothing to apologise for. You weren’t cheating on me…or doing things like that…”

It suddenly occurred to Robin that perhaps Strike had done things like that. She was not oblivious to his apparently prodigious sex life or the number of partners he’d had even when she’d know him previously, let alone in the last nine years. She could well imagine that Charlotte at least would have been more that averagely experimental in the bedroom, and cursed herself for letting her mind wander that far.

An awkward silence hovered over them, as if somehow Strike knew what she was thinking, and indeed, given the way Robin had flushed and avoided his eye as she reached to put her mug on the table, he had his suspicions. He felt himself colouring slightly as he wrestled with what might constitute a safe response.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, going for the safest option, “What’s happening with Alex and Edie - do they need picking up? Have you got something in for dinner? You really shouldn’t go bed on an empty stomach after a shock like that.”

Robin felt a rush of affection for Strike and his flustered concern.

“I spoke to Kath while I was upstairs. The kids are having a sleepover, and I’ve messaged Matthew to say I’m not well and he’s to pick them up from there tomorrow, so that’s one less thing to worry about. As for dinner...I really can’t face the thought of food right now…”

As she spoke, her stomach let out a loud and unexpected rumble. Strike raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“You sure about that?” He thought for a moment. “How about I pop out and get us a takeaway?”

Robin grimaced. On reflection, she could eat, but takeaway didn't feel quite right. She always thought of takeaway as a treat, or something a bit celebratory, and that was certainly not how she felt at that moment.

“To be honest, what I’d love is a bowl of something comforting and stodgy that doesn’t require any effort,” she admitted, “I just can’t be arsed to cook.”

“Right,” said Strike, hauling himself off the slightly too low sofa and gathering their mugs. “Do you trust me with your kitchen?”

“You’re going to cook…for me?” she said, slightly disbelieving.

His voice softened. “I’d like to…if you want me to. My pasta skills are quite extensive I’ll have you know.” He paused. “But if you’ve had enough of company for today and would rather I sling my hook, that’s also absolutely fine, just so long as you’re sure you’ll be okay?”

Robin smiled up at him. The first proper smile since she’d entered Kam Ellroy’s office that afternoon.

“Pasta would be lovely.”


	24. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike try to make sense of their feelings for one another in a domestic setting, but another panic attack brings them closer together.  
> An unexpected visitor almost causes trouble, but Strike's quick thinking saves the day.

Whilst Strike rummaged in the fridge and cupboards and set about assembling ingredients, Robin stretched and went into the utility room on another kind of quest. She returned a few minutes later, bearing a slightly dusty, dark green bottle.

She flashed the label at Strike as she placed it on the counter and went to the utensil drawer. He frowned momentarily.

“Are you sure you want to open that tonight?”

“I seem to remember you like Barolo, don’t you?” She was already twisting the corkscrew determinedly into place.

“Well I do, but that is a particularly nice bottle…”

“I know,” replied Robin, her tone defiant. “That’s what Matthew said when his wine club delivered it.”

With a somewhat aggressive tug, she wrested the cork free with a satisfying pop and poured two generous glasses, whist Strike watched her, grinning.

“What have we got then?” she said, handing him a glass before leaning over and peering at the assembled ingredients on the chopping board.

“Easiest pasta dish known to man…or woman. Smoked bacon, sliced courgettes, garlic and herb soft cheese, bit of pasta water and linguine.”

“Yum, smells fab. I think I’ve got some garlic bread in the fridge somewhere,” and she went off to locate it.

Strike was, in all honesty, slightly more distracted by the familiar smell of Robin now that she was this close, and by the overall cosy domesticity of the scenario he found himself in. He was no slouch on the domestic front, had cooked for other women and been an involved uncle and Godfather for years now. Still, he always felt slightly as if he was playing a role in those situations. Standing at Robin’s kitchen counter chopping courgettes and bacon whilst she pottered around him, he felt completely at ease, and as was the case when he’d carried Edie out to the car at Nick and Ilsa’s a few weeks previously, it scared him that it felt so right.

He took a large mouthful of Barolo, hoping it might numb him slightly to the feelings coursing through his veins. He’d wanted Robin for as long as he could remember, but he couldn’t have her then, and bearing in mind the current situation, he knew he couldn’t have her now either. It was too soon, too complicated. But maybe, said a hopeful voice in his head, maybe in time…

_I can’t let her slip away again._

_You’re not good enough, let her go…_

“Cormoran…I said do you need a hand?”

Robin was watching him with amusement. It obviously wasn’t the first time she’d asked.

“No, I’m fine,” he lied. “Everything’s under control.”

* * *

They eschewed the dining table in favour of eating on their laps on the sofa, the bottle of Barolo between them on the coffee table. Mindful of the fact he had to drive home, Strike restricted himself to just the one glass, whilst Robin unusually, or perhaps not given the day she’d had, managed two as they ate.

They talked about his work and her family. Stephen and Jenny and the nieces she adored; Jonathan and his boyfriend and their impending wedding. Martin’s decision, after a few years of aimlessly drifting from job to job, to join the police force.

Strike spluttered on his wine.

“The police?!” he exclaimed, incredulous. He still remembered Robin’s stories of Martin’s wild card behaviour from when they had worked together.

“I know,” Robin laughed, “There were times when we all thought he’d end up on the other side of the law, but once he made his mind up, that was it. It’s been six years now and it turns out he has an uncanny knack with teenagers and young people, so he does a lot of outreach work with schools and youth groups as part of his role. It’s been the making of him.”

From Robin’s family they went on to Strike’s. He told her how Ted and Joan were happily settled in their sheltered accommodation – “Honestly, it’s like a bloody holiday camp” – and of his nephew’s plans for the future and how well Lucy was doing with Joe and looking forward to celebrating their first wedding anniversary the following month.

“She’s lucky to have found him,” said Robin, wistfully. “For most of the people I know, they’ve felt online dating was their only option, and I’ve heard some absolute horror stories. I’d much rather wait and meet someone naturally, however long it takes. When the time is right of course,” she added hastily.

Strike gave a wry smile.

“It’s not that easy, but I’m sure a gorgeous, intelligent, funny thirty-something woman has a much better chance than a middle-aged, one-legged, chain smoking workaholic.”

“Cormoran Strike…” Robin leant over and gave his knee a gentle squeeze. She was clearly tipsy. “…s’about time you realised you are more than the sum of your parts. Anyway, you can’t tell me Lucy has actually given up trying to set you up with inappropriate women?”

“Oh, she gave up on that some time ago, thank Christ,” he replied. “Right let’s get this washed up…”

“I’ll do it…” she made to get to her feet, somewhat unsteadily.

“No, you won’t. Stay there, finish your wine…” there was only a little left in her glass, “…and I’ll stack the dishwasher and make us a coffee.”

Robin watched him moving about the kitchen, marvelling through her little fog of alcohol at how comfortable he seemed, almost as if he belonged there…

It’s the wine talking

It’s too soon

He wouldn’t be interested in you anyway…you’re too suburban…too boring…

She knocked back the last of her glass of wine and stretched her feet along one side of the sofa, leaning back on the arm. By the time Strike made his way back with the coffee, she was asleep.

He stood and watched her fondly for a few minutes whilst he quickly drank his coffee, then having scanned the room for a throw of some description and seen nothing, he climbed the stairs as quietly as possible. Mindful of not encroaching on Robin’s space any more than was necessary, he took the duvet from the first room he came across, which happened to be Edie’s, returned to the sofa and draped the assorted members of Paw Patrol over Robin’s recumbent form.

She was murmuring a little in her sleep and he chuckled as he shrugged on his jacket, blaming her higher than usual wine intake. He patted down his pockets for keys, cigarettes and phone, took a final affectionate look at her, and headed for the door. He was just about to close it behind him when he heard her anguished cry all the way from the back of the house, and immediately changed direction and half walked, half ran back inside.

“Robin…?”

He was relieved to see she didn’t look as bad as she had that afternoon, but nonetheless, she was sitting bolt upright, pale and panting, eyes wide. He moved to sit next to her on the sofa, taking it slowly in case his proximity was more distressing than calming, but Robin, much to his surprise, threw herself into his arms, sobbing.

“Oh, Robin,” he sighed, “You’re okay…you’re safe. It was just a bad dream.”

Robin gulped in air as she attempted to bring herself back to reality, Strike’s arms around her felt like an anchor, his chin a comforting weight resting on her head. Eventually, breathing under control, she pulled back and looked at him. Her face was blotchy and wet, her eyes red rimmed. It briefly flashed through her head that she must look like shit and it was really rather unfortunate that it kept happening in front of Strike.

“I dreamt about…Trewin, again. It’s been years. But in this one he…he…” her voice was shaking with the effort of holding back more tears, “…he took the mask off and it wasn’t him, it was Matthew.”

Strike pulled her back into a hug. “I think that’s not a surprising thing to dream about after today,” he hesitated for a moment, “Matthew never…?”

“Oh God, no. I mean there were times when I went along with it for the sake of a quiet life, but I guess that’s normal in most relationships…”

Strike briefly pondered the statement. He wasn’t entirely sure it was normal…at least, he thought, it probably shouldn’t be.

“…don’t know why I bothered really. I was obviously never enough for him anyway.”

A surge of indignation bolted through Strike. Of anger at the man…men…who’d been responsible for feeling that way. He lifted her head from his shoulder and cupped her face in his hands

“Robin, you mustn’t think like that. I meant every word I said earlier. You’re gorgeous, intelligent, funny and so much more. Any man with an ounce of sense would know he was lucky to have you. The fact Matthew didn’t realise what he had is no reflection on you…at all.”

Robin’s heart was hammering in her chest in a way she was pretty sure had less to do with her nightmare and more to do with Strike’s intense gaze and the way his large thumb was gently stroking the last of the tears from her cheek. She licked her dry lips and swallowed hard.

“Morale duly boosted,” she joked, “…really.”

“Good,” Strike smiled back, “Are you okay now?”

“I don’t know,” Robin admitted, “I just…I’m not sure I want…can you stay over?” she blurted out. “The spare room’s made up, I just really don’t want to be on my own if…if it happens again.”

Strike’s brain hesitated, fortunately his mouth did not.

“Anything you need.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Strike woke the following morning in Robin’s unfamiliar spare room. Woke, he reflected, was probably a bit of a stretch. Between the incessant march of thoughts and feelings about Robin that insisted on traipsing through his mind, and his awareness that she might have another nightmare or panic attack and need him, sleep had been elusive.

He lay for a while, recalling the events of the previous evening. Her drunken comment about him being more than the sum of his parts. His impassioned declaration of how lucky any man would be to have her. Did she really think he’d just said that to boost her morale? How could she not realise?

Eventually his bladder got the better of him and he attached his prosthesis and made his way out to the landing. On his return he noticed Robin’s bedroom door was ajar and, not hearing any movement downstairs, he looked in briefly and ascertained that she was still asleep. Returning to his room, he checked the time – gone nine o’clock, threw on his clothes and made his way downstairs.

He was standing on the deck beyond the bifold doors, smoking and drinking black coffee when Robin materialised downstairs half an hour later. She made herself a cup and joined him. It was a sunny morning with the promise of warmth already in the air. Dew sparkled on the grass and the blue sky bore a series of white criss-cross marks, an indicator of their proximity to Heathrow Airport.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “For yesterday…and for last night.”

“My pleasure, what are friends for?”

She giggled. “It’s official now then is it, we’re proper friends again, after all this time?”

“Always,” he clinked her mug.

Friends. That was enough, wasn’t it?

“In that case, I think I owe you breakfast, if you don’t have to rush off. There’s a lovely little place on the High Street, and I can pick up my car afterwards.”

“Sounds great.”

“Right, I’ll just go and get dressed,” she grinned at him, the twinkle restored to her eyes despite the mild, alcohol induced thud in her head, which she knew would be quickly fixed with paracetamol and food.

They were in the hallway, gathering themselves to leave a short while later, when they heard the sound of tyres on the gravel drive. Robin turned to Strike, her expression one of absolute horror.

“It’s Matthew.”

Strike nodded. As much as he’d like to confront the bastard, he knew he’d do Robin no favours that way.

“I’ll get out of the way,” he said, and ducked sideways into the cloakroom, just a few seconds before Matthew entered the house. Robin felt bile rising in her throat merely at the sight of him, and he glared at her, mistrustfully.

“I thought you were poorly.”

“I was…I am, but I need to pick the car up else I’ll be fined or clamped,” she lied.

“Why have you left the car in town?”

“I was at…an appointment when I felt unwell. I didn’t feel safe to drive home. Thanks for your concern by the way,” she added sarcastically. “Anyway, what are you doing here if you know the kids need picking up from Kathy’s?”

“I’ve got something on tonight, I came to pick up that bottle of Barolo I was saving.”

“Oh,” replied Robin, her face a picture of wide-eyed innocence, “I didn’t realise you were specifically saving that…it’s gone I’m afraid.”

“Gone? What the hell do you mean it’s gone? That bottle was over fifty quids worth?”

“Was it? Well as you always said, I don’t have a clue about decent wine. It was Alex’s teacher’s thirtieth birthday last week, and I know she likes red so…”

“You stupid bitch. You’ll have to bloody replace it.”

Robin forced herself to bite back a retort about him replacing his own bloody wine with some of the millions he’d been hiding from her throughout their marriage.

“Fine, but I can’t do it now. Pick up a bottle for tonight to the same value and I’ll transfer the money into your account when I get back. Now please leave…I need to lock up and you’ll be late for the kids.”

He glared at her and spun on his heel. He had only taken a couple of steps when he saw the BMW at the end of the driveway. He hadn’t registered it as he’d pulled in, his head full of what he might be able to persuade Sarah to indulge in after an expensive bottle of wine or two later that evening.

He turned back to Robin, his expression venomous.

“What the fuck is that doing here?”  
  
Robin hastily arranged her features into one of confusion. “What’s what doing where?”

“That,” he spat, pointing in the direction of the vehicle. “I’m not stupid. I know that’s Strike car. What is it doing here?”

Robin froze.

“I don’t know what you’re taking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you lying bitch. He’s here isn’t he. You really are fucking him?”

Suddenly self-righteous rage poured through Robin’s veins.

“As opposed to you trying to make it look like I’m having an affair by getting someone to follow me and take ambiguous but actually completely innocent photos and leak them to the gutter press?”

Matthew’s jaw dropped.

“I’m not stupid either Matthew…not for a girl with half a brain. Now get out.”

“You can’t order me out of my own house,” he snarled, “…and you’ve got no proof I had anything to do with Mitch Patterson or those photos. Have your fucking divorce if that’s what you want, if you’d rather be with some crippled, has-been war-hero,” he added inverted commas with his fingers as he said the last word, “But think of how you’ll look in the Family Court when it comes to residency arrangements…longstanding mental health problems, lying, infidelity, paranoia, palming your kids off so you can ‘entertain’ your boyfriend…”

“Don’t make me laugh Matthew, you’re hardly a paragon of parental virtue…screwing your bit on the side when I was in early labour with our daughter. Not exactly a good look is it?”

In his fury it didn’t even occur to Matthew to question how she had come across this information, he had forgotten even his suspicion that Strike was there, so focussed was he on threatening Robin.

“It doesn’t matter how good I look,” he spat back, reversing her up against the bannisters with his advancing body, “Just so long as I’m better than you.”

He glared at her for a moment, dark eyes boring into her skin. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him so hard the hall table shook, its contents rattling. Strike waited until he heard the aggressive rev on and engine and the screech of tyres on gravel before leaving the cloakroom, to find Robin sat on the stairs.

She sighed heavily. “Looks like even if I get my divorce he’s going to fight me for Alex and Edie,” she said flatly, tears welling in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t bank on it,” replied Strike, holding his phone aloft, “We’ve now got recorded evidence of him more or less admitting to hiring Mitch Patterson and of him threatening you. Throw in the photos and the financial stuff and I don’t think you’re going to have any more problems with Matthew.” He looked down at the anxious but nonethless unmistakable relief etched on Robin’s face. “Now,” he said with a soft smile, holding out a hand to pull her up, “I believe you promised me breakfast.”


	25. Deballatio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Kathy catch up over pizza following Strike's 'sleepover'.
> 
> After a long wait, Kam and Robin meet with Matthew and Leo Patterson to discuss the divorce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deballatio (Latin, of course!) - 'warring down'. Bringing about the end of a conflict by complete annihilation of the warring party.

Robin strode barefoot across the sitting room that evening carrying two pizza boxes. Kathy was already seated at one end of the sofa, nursing a glass of orange juice on her now substantial baby bump.

“One stuffed crust margherita with anchovies, pineapple and chilli,” said Robin, with a grimace, handing the box over.

“Salty, sweet and hot,” grinned Kathy with a naughty twinkle in her eye, “Besides, pineapple and chilli might get things moving a bit.”

“You’re not due for another four weeks,” exclaimed Robin.

“And don’t I know it. I’ve had enough and so has my bladder,” Kathy stated firmly, pulling a gooey slice out of the box and taking an enormous bite. “How are you feeling now anyway? I’m sorry I didn’t call last night, nodded off as soon as the kids were down. Were you okay on your own?”

Robin chewed her mouthful of pizza thoughtfully and swallowed.

“I wasn’t on my own actually,” she replied, somewhat hesitantly. “Cormoran stayed over.”

“I’m sorry…what now?!”

“Not like that, he just, well…took care of me, I suppose. It was nice.” Robin tried but failed to hide the small smile playing on her lips.

“Did he now?” Kathy was in full ‘Carry On’ mode, her expression wildly lascivious.

“Nothing happened,” Robin was laughing, she knew her friend was just teasing. “He made dinner, cleared up, I fell asleep on the sofa and he was going to leave but…I had a nightmare, which turned into a panic attack. He heard me just as he was going out the front and came back to see if I was alright. I asked him to stay and thank God I did because Matthew rocked up here on the way to yours and was an arse. Strike hid in the downstairs loo and recorded the whole argument, he was threatening to tell lies to court to get residence of the children.”

After brunch with Strike, Robin had headed home to catch up with chores and housework. Her mood had been up and down like a roller coaster, anger and anxiety with Matthew and his devious antics tempered by memories of the previous evening. The pleasant conversation and amusing banter between her and her former boss, his careful handling of her panic attacks, the way she’d felt so very safe in his arms when he’d held her. She’d become aware on several occasions that she’d paused mid task and was standing daydreaming with a daft smile on her face, which she’d hastily shook off and returned to whatever she was doing.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me this bloke, who you’ve had let’s say ‘wobbly’ feelings for, for years, is not only your knight in shining armour on a practical front, but also cooks, cleans, comforts you and tucks you up in bed, and makes no moves whatsoever?”

“Yup.”

“Right, so we know he’s not gay, which leaves one other option, he’s head over heels for you but too much of a gentleman to do anything about it.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Or the third and most likely option, he’s fond of me as a friend but absolutely not interested in me in ‘that way’, which is just as well under the circumstances.”

Kath had been friends with Robin long enough to see when she was trying to convince herself that something disappointing was the best thing. Heaven knows, she thought to herself, she’d had enough practice with bloody Matthew. She sighed loudly.

“Is that really what you think?”

“That he sees me as a friend or that it’s for the best that’s all there is to it?”

“Both.”

“Well, obviously it’s for the best. It’s way too soon for me to get involved with someone new…”

“He’s not exactly new…”  
  
“You know what I mean. There are the children to consider. How weird would it be for them?”

“Seeing their mum in a happy relationship, you mean.”

Robin gave her friend a reproachful look.

“Anyway, as lovely as he is, and even if the circumstances were different, I’m not his type…I’ve told you before about the sort of women he dates…supermodels, IT girls, high-flying glamorous career women. I’m pretty sure a run-down, single stay-at-home mum is not high up his wish list, although…”

She thought back to Strike’s words of the previous evening.

_"You’re gorgeous, intelligent, funny and so much more. Any man would know he was lucky to have you…"_

Kath was waiting expectantly for her to finish her sentence, fond amusement at her friend’s dreamy expression etched across her face. Eventually Robin confided what had been said.

“Darling, I don’t know what’s going on in his mind, and I can see why it doesn’t seem like a sensible idea, but if the opportunity arises to give it a go with Strike, don’t discount it just because of timing. Not every gift in life comes in a tidy package, and you’ve already waited ten years for this one.”

“We’ll see,” answered Robin, with a sigh, “I’ve got more urgent priorities for the time being anyway…arranging a meeting with the solicitors and getting Matthew sorted out being top of the list.”

* * *

Despite her early morning call to Kam Ellroy on Monday, Robin was forced to wait ten days for a meeting between the two solicitors. Kam reassured her that it would be a stalling tactic by Leo Patterson.

“They’ll be assuming we don’t have enough ‘evidence’ against their request to dismiss the petition, and hoping they can bully us into attending the court hearing with just forty-eight hours to prepare,” she told Robin drily. “I think Messrs Patterson and Cunliffe are in for quite a shock. Are you sure you’re happy to use both photos?”

Robin nodded her agreement.

“Anything that gets this over with as fast and efficiently as possible.”

“I thought you’d say that, so I’ve asked for more time than I usually would, because I think they’ll capitulate as soon as they see what we have, and I’d like to put forward the settlement proposal we’ve talked about if you’re happy to do so. They probably won’t give us an answer on the spot, but once they do can we submit the Form D and the Consent Order at the same time and move things along a bit quicker.”

Strike had also offered to attend the meeting to give his account of Matthew’s outburst on the Saturday morning, but Robin declined even before Kam advised against it.

“It’ll just be seen as inflammatory,” she told him on the phone one evening when he called to ask how she was doing. Kam was in agreement and arranged instead that Strike provide a recording and a statement about what he’d witnessed.

The atmosphere was predictably tense when Robin arrived at the offices of Hale, Warwick and Ellroy the following Wednesday morning, wearing a plum coloured trouser suit and white fitted blouse. The outfit had been a bit of an indulgence, but it lifted her mood to wear something new, that Matthew was unfamiliar with, and, she reasoned to herself, it would come in handy when she started job hunting at some point in the coming year.

With everyone seated, Kam began her prepared speech dealing with the points made in response to the divorce petition one by one.

“Firstly, there is not, nor has there ever been any evidence of Mrs Cunliffe suffering from paranoia or any other form of mental health issue that would affect her judgement or ability to look after her children, and we have medical reports to back this up.”

She pushed a sheaf of photocopies across the table.

“With regard to your accusation that it is Mrs Cunliffe that has been unfaithful rather than your own client,” Kam sighed heavily. “Leo, you and I both know that’s an outright lie. How on earth are you expecting to prove it?”

Leo Patterson, a small, oily, bespectacled man in his early sixties peered at Kam over his half- moon spectacles.

“Ms Ellroy I am sure you have seen the newspaper coverage of Mrs Cunliffe’s meetings with Cormoran Strike in recent weeks. Mr Cunliffe has also dropped into the marital home fairly early on a Saturday morning to find Mr Strike in situ having apparently spent the night.”

“Mr Patterson, technically we only have Mr Cunliffe’s word for that, but my client is willing to concede that Mr Strike was at the marital home on that occasion and that he had stayed overnight…”

Leo and Matthew exchanged smug looks.

“…in the spare room. This was necessary as a result of Mrs Cunliffe being severely distressed at the revelations that a number of photos had been found on two old laptops used by the family that remained in her possession."

She pushed the photo of Matthew and Sarah across the table for the two men to examine. Leo’s face clouded over briefly and Kam realised that Matthew hadn’t even mentioned the possibility of something like this cropping up. Patterson, practised at dealing with such revelations, quickly regained his composure.

“Ha! That’s hardly ‘in flagrante’,” he scoffed, “…and I’m not sure a judge would determine that it could cause sufficient distress for Mrs Cunliffe to need overnight ‘emotional support’ from another man.”

Kam smiled sweetly as pulled two further sheets of A4 paper out of a card folder.

“No, but I think you’ll agree these are.”

She slid them both across the table, one a screenshot of the porn images, the second the photo of Matthew with the brunette. She and Robin watched in silent satisfaction as Matthew turned a particularly unfetching shade of puce, and fury tracked across Leo Patterson’s face. He did not like being made a fool of and Cunliffe, with his glaring omissions, was doing a fine job of exactly that.

“You also might like to listen to this…”

Kam hit play on the MP3 player by her side.

_“As opposed to you trying to make it look like I’m having an affair by getting someone to follow me and take ambiguous but actually completely innocent photos and leak them to the gutter press?”_

_“…and you’ve got no proof I had anything to do with Mitch Patterson or those photos. Have your fucking divorce if that’s what you want…”_

_“It doesn’t matter how good I look, just so long as I’m better than you.”_

“I believe that constitutes your client threatening mine. Speaking of which we can offer multiple examples of unreasonable behaviour in the form of emotional abuse and coercive control if your client would prefer that option to infidelity on the divorce petition. Of course Leo, you’ll be aware that the latter is now a criminal offence in the UK,”

“Okay, okay…time out!” Patterson was almost shouting. “I need to speak to my client, alone.”

“Fine, we’ll go and have a coffee in my office…fifteen minutes?”

He nodded curtly, and the two women left the room, glancing at each other with raised eyebrows as the sound of raised voices drifted down the corridor behind them. Back in Kam's office, Robin sipped her coffee, feeling cautiously optimistic, and checked her phone whilst Kam scanned her emails.

There were messages from Kathy and Ilsa wishing her good luck, and from her friend Katie and sister-in-law in Yorkshire asking if there was any news yet. She’d spoken to her parents the night before and told them she’d call as soon as the meeting was over. She nibbled nervously on a shortbread finger and tried not to wonder why Strike hadn’t been in touch.

They were heading back into the meeting room when Kam’s phone beeped. She quickly scanned the text and smiled.

“Strike…” she said succinctly “He’s only just got up after a late surveillance job but says to wish you luck and ask you to call him later. He didn’t send it to you direct in case it came through in front of Matthew.”

“Right,” said Robin, nodding, her pleasure at knowing he was thinking about her that morning written all over her face despite her best efforts to hide it.

Kam mentally shook her head at her client and her associate, and their apparent refusal to admit what was evolving between the two of them.

Back in the meeting room Matthew was still shaking with rage and embarrassment, not least at having been subjected to a thorough bollocking from Leo Patterson who was livid at his client for withholding information pertinent to the case. He had quickly realised that the reappearance of Strike in Robin’s life was not unconnected to the discovery of the photos and just hoped that that was all the investigator had found on the laptops. He was certain he’d been fairly thorough in covering his tracks financially speaking and wasn’t aware that Strike had any exceptional tech skills to speak of.

He thought of the reasons Robin and Kam had given for Strike’s presence overnight in _his_ house and a rush of white-hot anger flooded his veins. The fucking nerve of the woman, being so shamelessly up front about it. And he’d have been willing to bet it wasn’t Alex’s teacher that had had the benefit of his expensive Barolo.

Robin could feel Matthew glaring at her even as Leo Patterson began to speak, stating that they would arrange an immediate withdrawal of his opposition to the divorce petition that afternoon.

“Thank you,” replied Kam smoothly. “Now that we’ve established the divorce is to proceed unhindered, and given the time that has already been wasted, perhaps we could discuss financial arrangements? My client is keen to move forward as quickly and cleanly as possible and we have already completed a Form D and drawn up a draft proposal for a Consent Order based on her knowledge of the couple’s collective finances if you’d like to take a look.”

Leo glanced at Matthew who reluctantly nodded his agreement. At least his client had been upfront about his finances. Now would be the moment of reckoning. Would Mrs Cunliffe be aware of the offshore accounts and investment properties, or not?

Heads together, he and Matthew skim read each document in turn. Robin watched, her stomach in knots as she saw her estranged husband’s expression go from shock to incredulity to anger, which quickly gave way to defeat. Kam caught her eye and gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Well, it seems you ladies have certainly carried out your due diligence,” said Patterson tightly, raising his gaze from the paperwork to the women on the opposite side of the table.

“Obviously I will have to discuss the details of this further with my client, and we’ll respond in due course.”

“Of course,” replied Kam, getting to her feet to signal that, as far as she was concerned, the meeting was over. “We would appreciate a response as soon as possible though. It’s a very reasonable proposal as I’m sure you can see Leo, and your client has delayed proceedings unnecessarily quite enough already.”

His client was already in the hallway, desperate to end his humiliation as soon as possible.

“Yes, but as I’m sure you’ll agree Ms Ellroy, financial matters have to be dealt with in a robust and thorough manner.”

“Oh absolutely, I couldn’t agree more. On that subject, I have a Section 37 Order on my desk ready for submission to court. I take it that won’t be necessary?”

Patterson sighed and rolled his eyes. He didn’t appreciate being so thoroughly beaten, particularly by a woman less than half his age, but he had to hand it to her. This whole debacle had been his client’s fault, not hers.

“No, it won’t. I can assure you I will be strenuously advising my client to accept the terms offered by Mrs Cunliffe.”

_So that I don’t have to deal with her idiot soon-to-be-ex-husband any longer than is strictly necessary._

Robin and Kam waited until they knew the two men would have entered the lift at the end of the corridor before turning to each other and high-fiving with a joyous exclamation of “We did it!” much to the surprise of a passing cleaner.


	26. Celebration - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the news that her divorce is finally proceeding and Matthew has agreed to the financial settlement, Robin prepares to celebrate, but then Strike messages with an unexpected request.

The call from Kam had come just before five o’clock the previous day, by which time Robin had largely given up on hearing any news regarding their financial proposal before the weekend. There were a few minor tweaks to what had been suggested but at Leo Patterson’s behest, Matthew had otherwise agreed to the Consent Order, to which Kam had hastily made the amendments and just submitted it to court, along with the Financial Declarations.

Robin had hung up, fizzing with excitement, and immediately messaged all the friends that had supported her in the previous months and invited them round to celebrate the following evening. To make matters even better, Saturday morning had seen the arrival of confirmation from the family court that ‘the respondent’s objection to the divorce petition has been formally withdrawn’.

By the time the afternoon rolled round it was warm and sunny with a pleasant breeze, much to Robin’s relief. It had been a long time since she’d entertained on any significant scale, and even longer since she’d hosted people she actually liked.

Her first thought had been to cook a ‘proper’ dinner as she would have done for a gathering with Matthew’s friends, who he insisted were never fed anything less than a minimum of three courses of restaurant quality food, properly presented with fine wines and followed by an extensive cheeseboard. Robin loved cooking, and Matthew always made it about showing off her skills so she found it hard to refuse, even when she’d not been in the mood or thought something simpler would suffice. On the couple of occasions that she’d taken shortcuts she’d been forced to endure barbed comments throughout the meal. It hadn’t stopped her taking them, but she’d gotten more careful about hiding the ‘evidence’.

She had decided therefore, that she would do things her way, and today that meant lots of fun without too much work. After breakfast, on the promise of them both choosing a comic and a treat from the cake counter, Robin had loaded Alex and Edie into the car and headed to Waitrose, where she'd filled her trolley with pizza and ice cream for the kids and teenagers, tapas, assorted cheeses, part-baked sourdough baguettes and salads. She'd added a few bottles of wine and beer and a litre of Pimms plus lemonade, oranges, strawberries and mint, and finally a couple of boxes of particularly good chocolates.

The rest of the day had passed in a blur of a cleaning and tidying with the ‘help’ of both children, which luckily tired Edie out enough to warrant an afternoon nap, enabling Robin to leave Alex to his sticker book whilst she had a shower. She hummed to herself as she rummaged for the shower gel that she only used on special occasions; showered, washed and conditioned her hair; skilfully wielded her razor over the areas that needed defuzzing, having eschewed her painful and expensive waxing appointment since Matthew’s departure.

After towelling down, she slathered herself in the expensive moisturiser that matched her shower gel and perfume, and began deftly twisting her hair into Dutch braids, having decided to wear it wavy for a change. She was halfway through the second braid when her phone bleeped a text notification.

“Bugger!” she muttered under her breath, glancing down at her mobile phone on her dressing table, her brief fit of pique at being interrupted instantly evaporating when she saw  
Strike’s name on the screen. She rushed to finish the second plait and flicked the screen to open the message.

> **Hi Robin. Looking forward to this evening, hope all’s well. I know it’s a bit short notice, but would you mind if I bring someone?**
> 
> **PS – Do you need me to pick anything up on my way over?**

Robin blinked and re-read the messages.

_Would you mind if I bring someone?_

She sighed. There was absolutely no reason for her to mind if he brought someone, was there? They were friends, that was all. She wasn’t even divorced yet and he’d given her no reason to think that he cared for her in anything other than a platonic sense. Still she couldn’t help but feel a niggling sense of disappointment, and a slightly sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of actually seeing him with someone else. In her home. On the night she was supposed to celebrating both her impending divorce and her other exciting news, although the latter might have to wait now. She was suddenly not so sure about her decision on that front.

Somewhat reluctantly she picked up her mobile and forced her fingers to tap out a reply.

> **No problem 😊 and thanks for the offer but all under control here. See you at 7. Rx**

She deleted and replaced the kiss three times before hitting send. It was how she always signed off her text messages to everyone, including Strike. There was no logical reason for her to change it.

By the time she got downstairs to start laying out food Edie was wide awake and desperate to ‘help’ which mostly involved getting under Robin’s feet and sampling the spicy olives which her brother had declared ‘yukky’, but certainly appealed to Edie’s more sophisticated palate.

“That’s enough, monkey,” scolded Robin gently, “You need to leave room for pizza and ice cream.”

Having arranged the get together at short notice, everyone was bringing their children, and Brooke, Oliver and Jack had been persuaded by Ilsa and Lucy to keep and eye on the little ones in exchange in exchange for snacks and (age appropriate) free rein with Sky Movies once they’d been shuffled off upstairs later in the evening.

Robin was monumentally relieved when the Herberts turned up early at the same time as Kathy, Andy and Harry. She still needed to get changed, touch up her make up and take her hair out of its braids.

She made introductions whilst putting Ilsa’s proffered flowers in a vase and squeezing Kathy’s magnum of champagne into the fridge to chill for later and thanking them both profusely.

“Right, that’s enough work for you,” instructed Ilsa, pouring glasses of Pimms from the jug that was already prepared on the counter. “Go and finish getting ready and I’ll finish sorting this lot out. Kathy can sit over there and give me instructions, and Brooke’s already got the kids under control. I’ll get their pizza on…go on…go!”

“Alright, alright I’m going,” laughed Robin, but as she got to the kitchen door, she paused momentarily. “Ilsa…I don’t suppose you know who this woman is that Strike’s bringing this evening?”

Ilsa’s expression was completely bemused.

“He’s bringing someone?” she repeated, clearly as surprised ad Robin. “Why? No, I have no idea.”

“Okay,” shrugged Robin, “Just wondered.”

Kathy and Ilsa exchanged a look, waiting to hear Robin’s bedroom door close above them.

“Well, that’s put a bit of a dampener on things I imagine,” remarked Kathy, shifting in her seat with a grimace as the baby’s foot wedged uncomfortably under her ribcage.

“I didn’t know he was seeing anyone,” murmured Ilsa distractedly as she peeled cellophane off the pizzas, “I thought…”

Kathy had a sense she knew where Ilsa’s train of thought was going.

“You thought…him and Robin?”

“Yeah, I was sure of it in fact,” she sighed. “Strictly between you and me, he had feelings for her way back, and since they’ve been in touch again I thought they were still very much there. Admittedly he was trying to talk himself out of the idea…”

“Because Robin’s been going through a messy divorce…”

“How do you know?”

“Because Robin feels exactly the same. Keeps denying it mind you, but it’s bloody obvious. You know he stayed over the weekend before last?”

“He what?!!” Ilsa missed the oven shelf, hastily picked up the pizza remembering something about the five-second rule and shoved it in.

“He’d met her at the solicitors, something to do with information Matthew had been hiding on old laptops,” Kathy was careful not to go into detail. “It came as a bit of shock, so he brought her back home and ended up staying the night, although he was apparently a perfect gentleman.”

Ilsa smiled fondly at her friend’s chivalrous streak.

_But he’s bringing somebody…what the hell is he playing at?_

The next ring of the doorbell did nothing to assuage their curiosity. Lucy, Joe, Jack and Oliver piled in. Having made introductions and despatched Jack and Oliver to the sitting room and Joe to the garden where Nick and Andy were making good progress with their first beers, Ilsa turned to Lucy and filled her in on the news of Strike’s guest.

Lucy sighed and shook her head, thoroughly exasperated, and unaware that Robin was in the hallway heading for the kitchen.

“All these bloody years he’s not had a relationship because no-one lived up to her, and he picks now to start dating?”

Lucy was obviously referring to Charlotte, she thought. It seemed abundantly clear that whoever this woman was, she was something truly special. Robin did her best to ignore the lead weight that was trying to settle somewhere in her solar plexus.

_No. This a celebration of my soon-to-be newfound freedom, and I’m bloody well going to enjoy it._

“Right,” she announced, entering the kitchen, “Enough of this lightweight stuff, who fancies a cocktail? Pornstar martini or Italian Twinkle?”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” laughed Kathy, wincing again. “Wish I could join you, but I'm saving myself for a tiny glass of bubbly later.”

Robin poured three pre-mixed martinis and was slicing passion fruit to add to the glasses when the doorbell rang. There was only Strike and his mystery companion left to arrive, and the four women turned and looked at each other, Robin realising immediately that Ilsa had filled Lucy in on the afternoon’s developments.

She put down the knife, wiped her hands and went to answer the door.


	27. Celebration - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike's 'plus one' is revealed, but that's not the only surprise he has planned.  
> Robin makes an announcement, and Ilsa and Lucy plan an intervention.

“Hi Robin, sorry we’re late,” Strike said apologetically as he stepped into the hallway and bent down to kiss her cheek. For a moment, his warm hand on her waist and his familiar sent of woody, spicy aftershave with just a hint of smoke and peppermint beneath distracted her from the woman standing behind him.

Looking over his shoulder as she stepped back, Robin quickly checked her out. She was slightly taller than Robin, curvy and statuesque with flawless mahogany coloured skin and black shoulder length hair braided into neat corn rows. She was wearing a colourful and extravagantly patterned jumpsuit teamed with bright orange canvas pumps and looked oddly familiar.

“Robin…long time, no see,” she greeted her, smiling and throwing her arms out for a hug, and in that second, the penny dropped.

“Vanessa?!”

“It’s so good to see you darlin’,” she said, her south London accent fully in evidence. “And I am so sorry for holding him up…not easy to escape when you’ve got twins.”

“Twins?”

“Yep – remember Oliver, the guy in forensics I’d just started seeing when we lost touch? Married for six years now. Gabe and Zeke are ten months.”

“Had to pop into the Yard this afternoon and didn’t realise Van was back from maternity leave,” explained Strike. “We got chatting and well, here we are.”

Strike watched Robin catching up with her old friend. She looked radiant, all the stress of the last few months having evaporated since the last time he’d seen her. The light denim blue of the simple wrapover sundress she was wearing brought out the colour in her eyes and seeing her hair in soft waves rather than its usual straight style was eminently distracting, and he couldn’t help himself from wondering what it would feel like under his fingertips.

_The ink’s not dry yet…get a grip_

“Who is that?” hissed Ilsa as Strike ambled into the kitchen to drop off the wine and beer he’d brought along.

“Hello to you too,” he grinned, kissing her cheek. “Old friend of Robin’s from the MET. They lost touch after Robin got married, but I bumped into her today and asked her along.”

“As what?”

“As a surprise for Robin of course, what else would I bringing her for…oh! God no, she’s very happily married with kids.”

“Robin thought you were bringing a date.”

“A date?”

He suddenly remembered the look on Robin’s face as she’d opened the door to him, and how it had changed when she’d recognised Vanessa. He realised now that her expression had been one of relief. She had been relieved that he hadn’t brought a date.

“What are you looking so smug about Oggy?” asked Nick as he entered the room in search of more beer.

“Nothing, I’m good. How’s things in the world of medicine?”

The next few hours passed with lots of good food, drink and conversation. Alex, Edie and Harry, who was staying for a sleepover, were eventually wrangled into bed, and Logan came to sit in the kitchen with Ilsa and promptly nodded off with his head in her lap, so she left him sleeping on the sofa. The teenagers had settled into the sitting room for a Netflix marathon, provided they could ever agree on what to actually watch.

It was shortly before ten when Kathy put her arm around Robin and sleepily announced that she and Andy were making a move and would be back at eleven the following day for Harry.

“Oh no! You mustn’t go yet…we’ve got to have a toast, and I’ve an announcement to make. Can you go and round everyone up for me please and I’ll do it now.”  
In five minutes, everyone was assembled in the kitchen, clutching glasses of Veuve Cliquot and listening to a slightly tipsy Robin tell them how much she loved them and valued their support and friendship, particularly over the previous months.

“And, I’ve also got some ‘citing news that doesn’t involve bloody Matthew,” she grinned, her eyes finding Strike’s amid the assembled guests. He grinned back and raised his glass imperceptibly to her. “I’ve only gone and got myself a new job…or should that be an old job? I dunno, anyway I’m going to be working with Strike again from the beginning of June. Just from home as a contractor to begin with but…”

“There’s no ‘just’ about it,” he interjected. “You always were a fantastic investigator and we’re very lucky to have you back on the team. So, please allow me to propose a toast to my new investigator…Robin Ellacott!”

Several minutes passed in a blur of champagne and congratulations, Kathy and Andy bid their goodbyes and as her remaining guests milled back out into the fairy-light strewn garden, Robin began to tidy up, although she didn’t get very far.

“We’ll do that,” Lucy told her, clearly not about to take ‘no’ for an answer, and since she had Ilsa for back up, Robin didn’t even try, picking up the remainder of her glass of champagne and heading into the garden for a catch up with Strike and Vanessa.

“Bad timing,” said Vanessa, getting to her feet as Robin wove her way between chairs with a half bottle of prosecco in her hand. “I’m gonna have to make a move, it’s Oli’s turn for the Sunday lie-in tomorrow and if I wake up at eleven with a hangover I will not be popular!”

She gave Robin a warm hug. “It’s been great to see you again, we’ll get together with the kids soon, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” beamed Robin, “I’ll come see you out…”

“No, you won’t, you stay here and enjoy your bubbly. I’ll give you a call.”

Robin dropped into the chair next to Strike and chinked her glass on his bottle of Doom Bar.

“Thank you. That was a fabulous surprise. I always regretted losing touch with Van.”

“I know, you told me. Although it was complete fluke that I bumped into her. You didn’t mind me bringing her at the last minute?”

“God, no, of course not.”

“Only when you answered the door, you seemed a bit…tense.”

Robin hoped he couldn’t see the colour creeping over her cheeks in the meagre light from the solar lantern on the table.

“Oh, no…just you know, last minute party prep stress,” she replied brightly. “It really was a lovely surprise.”

Strike, she realised, was looking fondly at her, as if deliberating over whether or not to speak.

“I’ve actually got another surprise for you,” he said, his expression slightly nervous as he reached under the table and pulled out a large, shiny, cream-coloured bag made of glossy card with wide ribbon handles and a familiar gold embossed logo. “Call it a combined happy divorce/welcome back to work gift.”

Robin looked at him eyes wide.

“Open it then,” he encouraged.

She opened the bag and took out a matching box, removed the lid and peeled back layer upon layer of tissue paper, gasping aloud when she finally revealed the contents.

“Cormoran, they’re beautiful,” she breathed, gently running a finger over the shimmering satin.

“I figured I owed you, for the ones you returned to pay Shanker off for helping you Brockbank. And I know you probably don’t have the dress anymore, but when I saw them…anyway I guess they’ll go with other things, and I know you’ve got your brother’s wedding coming up…”

Strike was aware that he was prattling on, something he wasn’t usually given to, and forced himself to stop talking and just enjoy the sight of Robin examining her gift.

The Jimmy Choos were a classic, backless style in emerald green satin with a four-inch stiletto heel and a band of crystals across the instep. They were, thought Robin, possibly the most stunning pair of shoes she had ever seen, certainly the most stunning pair she’d ever owned. He’d even managed to get the size right.

“How did you…?”

“Just happened to notice the size in the ones you had in the hallway when…the other week, and it stuck in my brain. You know me…mine of sometimes useless information.”

She gazed at him, shaking her head slightly in disbelief.

“Thank you. You really are something else, Cormoran Strike,” she smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek before it became obvious she was welling up.

“Oh, for God’s sake don’t start crying on me over shoes!” he laughed back, brushing a tear from her cheek and reaching to top up her glass of prosecco.  
In the kitchen, Ilsa and Lucy watched in exasperated amusement.

“What the hell are going to do with the pair of them?” Lucy wondered aloud.

“Stage a bloody intervention,” replied Ilsa, rather aggressively given the subject matter, “And I have just the idea that might work, but I’ll need your help.”

Lucy eyed Ilsa suspiciously.

“I think you need to tell me what you have in mind first.”

Ilsa poured Lucy another drink, passed her the bowl of chocolates, and explained her plan. A smile spread across Lucy’s face.

“If she agrees it might just work. I don’t think we should tell her about Friday night until we’re all there though, do you?”

“No, good point. So, you’ll ask her then?”

“Yep…just as soon as she tears herself away from my brother!”


	28. Revelations and Reconcilliations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Ellacott family gathering leads to a bitter row between Robin and Linda, and big brother Stephen is forced to intervene,  
> Back in London, Strike realises that Ilsa and Lucy have been scheming behind his back.

The following week was busier than ever for Robin. She had laundry, packing and shopping to do for both their trip to Manchester for Jonathan’s wedding and the short break they planned to take afterwards. They had had a family holiday to Portugal booked, in the kind of upmarket resort she had been to with Matthew so many times before. The kind that she knew she was supposed to be impressed by and grateful for, but at which she inevitably ended up feeling pressured and stressed.

Matthew had always been keen to find resorts with children’s clubs and babysitting services, encouraging Robin to spend time in the spa whilst he played golf, and then arranging dinner either with accompanying friends or just the two of them, the former an exercise in competitive table talk, the latter with the inevitable expectation of what would follow.

She shuddered at the thought. She knew she’d been fortunate that they were able to afford such options, but all she’d really wanted was a relaxed family holiday for the four of them to spend time together, as much as she’s known deep down that would never happen either. They’d attempted it a couple of times on UK based camping holidays which had brought out Matthew’s control freak side more than she could ever have imagined possible. What kind of person insists on ‘shoes off’ before entering a tent, for goodness sake! After they second attempt she’d put the bloody thing on eBay and gone along with the resort holidays as the lesser of two evils.

She also found herself packing up the remainder of Matthew’s things, mostly sporting equipment and books from the study, an assortment of accounting textbooks and cricket and rugby almanacks that had been gifted to him over various Christmasses. Matthew didn’t read fiction, deeming it to be a ‘waste of time’. Robin rolled her eyes and shook her head as she taped the final box shut and put it in the garage for collection, trying not to think of Strike with his love of Latin and ability to quote all sorts of literature at the drop of a hat.

Strike was equally well-occupied, the end of the financial year at the beginning of April having thrown up several small business fraud cases that he was attempting to work on with Hutchins, whilst also liaising with Wardle on a criminal case that he and Shanker had been assisting with on the side. He mused that, in addition to Robin, he may have to look into hiring a forensic accountant on a short-term contract to help them with the nitty gritty of what they were dealing with. He stretched back in his chair, feeling a wash of satisfaction that after so many years of hard work the business was finally doing well enough that he could consider such options without any financial worries.

His thoughts immediately rebounded back to Robin. The last few months had been intense. Suddenly finding themselves unwittingly back in one another’s lives, rebuilding the friendship that had been left in tatters all those years ago, dealing with Matthew’s bitterness and drama.

The sensible part of Strike told him that anyone’s feelings would be heightened in the circumstances, that they would settle, and he could enjoy them being friends and colleagues once again, with the benefit of Robin working largely remotely, at a safe distance. She was not quite yet divorced, and she was an eminently practical woman who want to focus on her new life and her children. She would not be wanting to jump into another relationship.

_Least of all with a chain-smoking, commitment phobic cripple, ten years her senior who had previously sacked her._

There was that voice in his head again. The voice of reason as he liked to think of it, although when he’d confided in Ilsa last time he’d had these thoughts she had tried to convince him otherwise.

_But what if she meets someone else? You could lose her all over again…_

“For fuck’s sake!” he muttered under his breath, slamming his laptop shut and striding out into the main office where Barclay was squinting at a clip of CCTV footage on his computer screen.

“Sam...pub?” barked his boss.

He didn’t need asking twice, and moments later the two men were heading for The Flying Horse, and what would turn out to be several pints.

* * *

Robin tried not to resent the early start on Friday morning. It was an INSET day, which normally would have meant as much of a lie-in as Alex and Edie would allow and a pleasant few hours mooching, maybe a picnic lunch at Richmond Park and a film and popcorn evening.

Instead she was up at 5am packing the car for their journey to Manchester for Jonathan’s wedding, and their holiday, which they were heading off to on Sunday afternoon. Robin loaded the car with suitcases, ‘goody bags’ for the children containing assorted small toys, crayons, colouring and reading books, an assortment of DVDs, snacks and drinks for the journey and finally, her dress bag and the Jimmy Choos. She stroked the bag lovingly and smiled as she laid it carefully on top of the other luggage. She and Strike hadn’t spoken since the previous weekend, although they’d exchanged several work-related messages and emails. Robin had altered childcare arrangements for Alex and Edie to give her Tuesdays and Thursdays free. She would mostly work from home but was keen to go into the offices to meet everyone initially and then as regularly as she could going forward.

The journey, whilst lengthy, was uneventful. Robin had left early to avoid the carnage that was the M25 at rush hour, so spun the drive out with three stops for bathroom breaks, leg stretching and, on the second stop, a proper breakfast. By the time she arrived in the Manchester suburb of Ladybarn, her parents and Martin were already at the house they had rented for the weekend, and Stephen, Jenny and their daughters were on their way.

Jonathan and his husband to be, Jay, had opted for a relatively low-key evening wedding of register office ceremony at Heron House followed by a meal at 'Australasia' a restaurant in the centre of the city, which suited both their informal outlook and their teacher’s salaries. Jay was of Indian heritage but born and raised in Australia. His parents and siblings were also staying in the area for an extended visit, and the two families were due to meet that evening at the Botanist, a local gastropub for a ‘get-to-know-you’ meal.

First, however, Robin had to negotiate her own family.

Having been hugged almost to death by their grandmother, Alex and Edie had made themselves comfortable in the sitting room with their Uncle Martin, a plate of cheese sandwiches and a large bag of crisps.

“Where’s Dad?” Robin asked as she accepted a large mug of tea from Linda, who brought her own over to the table along with a packet of caramel wafers.

“He’s with Jonathan picking up the suits. White tuxedo’s for goodness sake!” she shook her head son’s sartorial choices.

“Very James Bond,” laughed Robin, who thought Jon and Jay’s plan to wear simple black and white, whilst requesting their guests dress ‘as vibrant as you dare!’ was fabulous. Alex, as page boy, would be wearing a miniature version of the grooms and groomsmens suits, whilst Edie, who, along with her cousins, was to be a flower girl had an ivory dress with a skirt made from doubled over layers of tulle filled with multi coloured petals and trimmed with rainbow ribbons. She was beyond excited, although Robin had had to rein in her suggestion that she completed the look with the police hat from her dressing up box.

“I wonder what Jay’s parent’s make of it all,” mused Linda. “I imagine they must have hoped that he would go back to Australia one day. It can’t be easy to have that much distance between yourself and your child, although at least they’ve got their daughters nearby.”

Robin drank her tea silently and tried not to take Linda’s comment as a subtle dig at her decision to stay in London, despite her thoughts about moving back to Masham earlier in the year. Whatever had happened between her and Matthew, he was still the children’s father. He loved them, in his own inept way and they loved him. It would serve no-one’s benefit to remove them halfway up the country and make their relationship more challenging than necessary. She was finally beginning to build up a new social circle. In addition to Kathy, Lucy and Ilsa, Vanessa had already been in touch about a proper catch up, and a handful of mums from Robin’s book group had expressed their support in the light of her impending divorce. It had surprised Robin, who always felt that most of their associates saw Matthew as he liked to portray himself, loyal husband and doting father. It had transpired that more people than she had suspected had seen through his act.

“Love, are you sure you don’t want to think some more about moving back to Masham? I’m sure Matthew would work around it if it was the best thing for the children. Fresh air, smaller schools, you wouldn’t have to rush to get a job when Edie starts school…”

Robin’s heart sank. She really didn’t want to get into this again, not now, but if she held out on Linda she knew there would be hell to pay later.

“Mum, I really don’t think Matthew would be that obliging, and I don’t want to uproot Alex from a lovely school where he’s doing well and has lots of friends.”

Linda eyed her suspiciously. Despite their many differences, she could read her daughter like a book.

“And?”

Robin’s blue-grey eyes met her mother’s matching ones, and she gave a sigh of resignation.

“And…I don’t need to worry about getting a job when Edie goes to school, because I already have one. I start after half term, just two days a week for now, mostly working from home.”

“Oh!” The wind had well and truly been taken out of Linda’a sails, and her expression floundered somewhere between disgruntlement and grudging pride that her daughter already not only secured herself a job already, but one that seemed a perfect fit for her family life too. “What is it you’ll be doing then?”

“Investigative work,” Robin replied, deliberately vague.

“Investigative…oh, good lord, tell me you’re not going to work for that man again?!”

Linda’s face was contorted with anger, disappointment and fear as Robin had known it would be.

“Sorry mum,” she replied, draining her mug of tea and shrugging her shoulders, clearly unrepentant, “…but that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m good at it, and it makes me happy.”

“You have got two young children to consider Robin, do you not give a damn about them?” Linda’s voice was rising, and across the hall in the sitting room, Martin nudged the door closed with his foot and turned the television up, the better to drown out the row from his niece and nephew. “What exactly do you think is going to become of them next time you’re attacked by a knife-wielding maniac in the name of ‘being happy’ you stupid girl!”

Linda knew the moment the words left her mouth she should never had said them, and of course she didn’t mean that Robin was stupid, just that her choices, in this instance, might be. But it was too late to take them back.

Robin’s jaw clenched. She stood up, drawing herself to her full height and went and rinsed her mug, leaving it on the draining board.

“Thanks for that vote of confidence and scathing assessment of my parenting abilities Mum,” she said coolly, “I’m going up to unpack.”

* * *

Only the other members of the Ellacott family noticed the continuing tension between Linda and Robin that evening. With both families including children numbering twenty it was easy for Robin to avoid her mother and throw herself into socialising with Jay’s brother, who was the same age as her, and his younger sister, as well as spending time chatting to her Dad and brothers.

It was only when they were saying their goodbyes to Jay’s family, who had a little further to travel back to their accommodation that Stephen took Robin aside.

“What’s going on with you and mum?”

“Nothing.”

“Bollocks, I’ve grown up with you and I’ve got a wife and two daughters, I can tell when there’s friction. What’s she done?”  
  
Robin snorted at Stephen’s immediate assumption that their mother was in the wrong. It wasn’t entirely fair and she knew it, but on this occasion it was nice to feel he had her back.

“I’m going back to work to Cormoran, and she’s not happy about it. She implied that I was being negligent of my children’s needs by doing so and putting myself at risk.”

“Oooh,” Stephen winced. “I can see why she’d worry but that’s a bit harsh.”

“It’s patronising and bloody offensive is what it is,” spat Robin, no less angry for the three large glasses of wine that she’d consumed over the course of the evening, “How dare she imply that my parenting isn’t up to scratch and that I’m too stupid to know what I’m getting into. Actually, she didn’t just imply that, she called me a stupid girl to my face!”

“What exactly are you going to be doing?” Stephen asked, “I mean you were injured several times when you worked for him before.”

“Oh for God’s sake don’t you bloody start,” Robin went to turn.

“I’m not starting Robin, I’m just asking you. I know nothing about the work you did…do. Talk to me.”

He ushered her to a hidden away table, got them both coffees and asked Jenny to keep an eye on Alex. Edie was asleep in her grandmother’s lap. He returned to Robin who filled him in on the kind of work involved in private investigation and more specifically the kind of work she would be doing.

“So, there’s absolutely no risk involved. I’m going to be doing the research and analysis side of things. I’ve got a contract, a six-month probationary period to check it’s working out on both sides, and if it is, Strike’s offered to look into professional development funding through the business for me to finish my degree. I could re-join the course next January. Honestly, I’d like to get back to the more active stuff at some point, but of course I have other priorities and considerations now. I know that, and Strike is happy to accept that as part of taking me on.”

Stephen pondered Robin’s final statement, and privately wondered just how much Strike would be willing to accept in order to have his sister back working for him. He was an intelligent and sensitive man and reading between the lines had suspected both nine years ago and more recently that her boss’s feelings for her went beyond the professional. He wondered briefly whether to broach the subject but seeing the still exasperated look on Robin’s face thought better of it.

“Does mum know what you’re doing?”

“We didn’t get that far. I wasn’t in the mood for having to explain myself in the circumstances.”

“Right,” nodded Stephen. “Do you think that might help? I mean, I know Mum can be a pain in the arse, and what she said was really not good, but assuming it comes from a place of ignorance and fear…”

“That’s no excuse,” retorted Robin, “I’m not a child anymore, or a traumatised teenager. She doesn’t get to make those decisions for me, and she doesn’t get to judge me based on her own opinions and neuroses. When she apologises, I’ll explain.”

“Mummy, I’m tired.” Alex’s face appeared around the corner of the nook in which they were seated.

“Okay sweetheart, I think we’re all heading back shortly,” she told him, draining her coffee and returning to the bar to collect her coat and her daughter.

* * *

Whilst Robin was navigating family tensions, Strike was enjoying an altogether more relaxed evening with Nick and Ilsa. It had been a long and exhausting week and the opportunity to unwind over a curry was very much needed.

Food finished, Brooke headed off to her room, and Ilsa took Logan up to bed, leaving Nick and Strike clearing up and stacking the dishwasher which they did in record time, keen to get back to their beers and in Strike’s case, head out to the garden for a cigarette.

Nick followed him, with fresh bottles of Doom Bar and Spitfire and dropped into the chair opposite his friend.

“So, the Strike-Ellacott dream team is back together then?”

Strike inhaled deeply on his cigarette and nodded, before taking a swig of his beer.

“Yup, as of Tuesday week. It’ll be good to have her back on board, we could certainly use her intuition and people skills. Don’t get me wrong I’ve got a great team, but she has this innate way with people that I’ve rarely come across…”

“People skills,” nodded Nick, struggling to hide his smirk, “And that’s all you’re wanting her back for?”

Strike sighed, obviously unimpressed with his friend’s line of questioning.

“Oggy, mate, your personal life is your own business, but Ils and I…we saw what you were like after you and Robin parted ways last time, and, well, we’ve noticed how you’ve been since she’s been back in your life. I’m not trying to tell you what you should do or not do, but you need to be honest with yourself at least, for everyone’s sakes.”

“I appreciate your concern, but you’re right, it is none of your business.”

Nick nodded and drank some of his beer.

“It’ll be fun to have her and kids down next week though. Logan and Alex get on like a house on fire, and Brooke loves Edie.”

Strike frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you know? Lucy invited Robin and the kids down to St Mawes with them for half term. She and Matthew had a holiday in Portugal booked but she let him have it, said it wasn’t really her cup of tea, so Lucy suggested she join her and Joe at the house as the boys aren’t going down until the end of the week.”

Strike was blindsided by this turn of events. He’d only been in contact briefly with Robin about her starting work, but he’d spoken to Lucy on several occasion about plans for the following weekend, and Ilsa, who was obviously aware of the situation had messaged him several times and mentioned nothing either. He had a creeping suspicion that their omissions had been entirely deliberate, and it wasn’t as if he could change his own plans, given the circumstances.

“No,” replied Strike, somewhat tersely, “I had no idea.”

* * *

During the course of Saturday, Robin and Linda continued to skirt around one another, whilst the rest of the family skirted around both of them. The wedding ceremony wasn’t until 7pm, so after lunch Robin and Jenny took the children out to a nearby park with the aim of tiring them all enough for afternoon nap so that they wouldn’t be cranky later in the evening. Their mission was a resounding success and by the time they got back, all four children were happy to crash out.  
  
Linda, who Jonathan had asked to accompany him down the aisle, had gone to get her hair done at a nearby salon that his friend had recommended, and the plan had been for her to continue getting ready with Robin and Jenny on her return, but with the atmosphere between the two women, it seemed unlikely that would go well. Jenny could sense Robin prickling with tension as they awaited her mother’s arrival.

“Stephen told me what happened,” she said Robin, over glasses of Bucks Fizz, “I don’t blame you for being angry…”

“But…?”

“No buts. You’re perfectly justified in how you feel. It would be good if you could both put it on one side for the rest of today at least.”

“I think it’s best I just keep out of the way, to be honest,” Robin looked tearful but defiant. As she spoke, the sound of a car pulling up on the driveway indicated Linda’s arrival.

“I’m going to pop up for a bath.”

Robin returned sometime later in a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel, and sat with Linda and Jenny at the kitchen table whilst they painted their nails. She made polite small talk with them both about their outfits and the details they knew about the ceremony, not wanting to spoil the day completely. But whilst she hated fighting with her mum, she had no intention of backing down, and after a while excused herself to get Alex and Edie ready. They were downstairs by 5.30pm, leaving her just enough time to get dressed and finish her hair and make-up.

She’d just sat on her bed and reached for the Jimmy Choo bag when there was a knock at the door.

“Can I come in?”

It was Linda.

“Okay.”

She opened the door gingerly and stepped into the room. She was wearing a lace shift dress and matching jacket, both of which were scattered with a sprinkling of fine sequins. They were both midnight blue, this being the brightest colour Jonathan had been able to convince Linda, who favoured neutral and pastel tones, to wear. Her hair was swept up in a neat chignon with loose curls around her face and her make-up was perfect.

“Wow,” Robin couldn’t help herself, “You look amazing Mum.”

Linda smiled with relief at the positive reception.

“Can I…?” she gestured to the bed and came and sat down as Robin wriggled over to make room.

“I’m so, so sorry my darling,” she began, “What I said to you yesterday was awful. I know you’re a wonderful mother and you love Alex and Edie to bits. I know you’d never do anything to cause them pain or harm on purpose…”

Robin raised an eyebrow at her mother, resenting the implication that she still nonetheless be reckless enough to cause them pain or harm by accident.

“I’m not making a good job of this, am I? What I mean is that I know I should trust your judgement, and it’s really not that I don’t it’s just…even now it’s hard to see you and not see…a different Robin. I don’t ever want you to find yourself back in the place you were…after…”

“Neither do I mum.”

“And, I know it’s selfish but, I don’t want to go through that again either. I know you have a daughter of your own now, but you can’t imagine what it’s like, knowing your child has been hurting and in danger and that you were absolutely powerless to help them.”

Robin didn’t reply, too focused on not thinking any more than necessary about the events to which her mother was referring.

“I’ve never stopped wondering how I didn’t know somehow. We were so close, I feel like I should have had a sense that something was wrong, not have been sitting watching TV with a cuppa then pottering off to bed completely oblivious.”

“You’re my mum,” Robin reached for Linda’s hand a gave it a squeeze, “You’re not psychic.”

“I know.”

Robin took a breath, “I know you were in a support group at the time but perhaps you could do with some more help sorting out your feelings about...what happened?”

“Maybe, but for now, I just want my daughter back, exactly as she is. Brave and beautiful and strong. I will do my very best to trust your judgement – or at least keep my opinions to myself – in future. But I will always worry about you, it’s my job.”

“I know, and being an investigator is mine. It's what I love, what I've always loved.”

"I realise that, and I want you to be happy and fulfilled in your work. Stephen told me a bit more about what you'll be doing. It sounds like Strike is very understanding about your circumstances."

Robin hoped she wasn't blushing too obviously as she answered, "Yes, he really is."

Linda’s gaze travelled over her daughter’s figure, down to the bag on the floor and back up again.

“Finally getting the chance to wear it then,” she smiled. She knew the story of the green dress. “It’s stunning. I can see why Matthew…”

“Don’t, mum, just don’t go there.”

“Fair enough…let’s see your shoes...”

Robin gently removed them from the layers of tissue and slipped them on, stood up and gave her mum a twirl.

“Gorgeous, bit indulgent mind, but you deserve it love.”

“They were a present actually.” It had slipped out before Robin had time to think.

Linda smiled up at her daughter and nodded knowingly.

“Well, they were a very good choice,” she smiled. “In fact, I’d say they were the perfect match.”


	29. Girls' Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike battles with thoughts of Robin after Nick's revelation that she's in St Mawes with Lucy and Ilsa.
> 
> Robin and the children enjoy their time in Strike's home village, and a girls' night in party game leads to a certain amount of embarrassment for Robin.

Strike spent the day after his visit with Nick and Ilsa catching up with housework, brooding and rescheduling his work for the next few days with every intention of distracting himself as much as possible from thoughts of Robin.

It was a delicate balance, knowing as he did that too much office work would distract him during the day but leave him unable to sleep, whilst the physical work that would make sleep effortless also required significantly less focus and therefore left him with far too much thinking time during the day.

He was also grudgingly aware that he was slightly less able to push his leg to his limits these days. Regular swimming and sparring and a better diet had left him in better shape and overall fitness, but twelve years of regular, and often relentless prosthesis use had resulted in inevitable wear and tear that made it more sensitive to overuse and he had a lot of driving to do at the end of the week.

He glanced at his watch and realised that Robin would be at her brother’s wedding about now. He wondered if she was wearing the green shoes, and if so, what with. He imagined the green dress, which he could still picture her wearing in his mind’s eye, had long been sold or donated. Still he couldn’t help imagining her wearing it, laughing with her children and family, the subtle restaurant lighting shimmering off the fall of rose gold hair over her shoulder.

He pulled himself up with a start and reminded himself, as he had time and again in the latter stages of their previous working relationship...

_...this far and no further._

He had weakened last time. There had been the futile delivery of roses which had wilted in their bag and eventually been consigned to the bin along with the unopened card. It hadn’t been a declaration as such, more a gentle opening of a door. Or at least that had been what Strike had hoped for at the time.

Then there had been the mortifying visit to Hastings Road, just a few hours too late. The taunting glint of gold, sapphire and diamond on Robin’s finger, her hesitant request for time off for wedding planning, and his pathetic excuse about the inadequacy of the bolt on her back gate. It hadn’t been a lie, but nor had it been the only reason for his presence in her garden that morning.

And finally, the abortive trip to Masham with Shanker in a stolen car.

His phone buzzed a text alert, a welcome diversion from his wandering thoughts.

> **Hey you! Sending this hands-free whilst driving back from a shoot in Cambridge…any suggestions as to how I might be able to occupy my hands later this evening? Cx**
> 
> **PS…suggestions for other parts of my anatomy also welcome 😉…call me x**

Strike shook his head, smiled ruefully and went to pour himself a whisky before replying.

* * *

Robin, Alex and Edie arrived at St Mawes at 9pm on Sunday evening after a gruelling seven-and-a-half-hour drive. As well organised as she was, and as much as she loved driving, even Robin was doubting the wisdom of not breaking the journey at a B & B en route by the time she hauled her exhausted self and two children out of the car.  
Lucy and Joe were already waiting to greet her, and Joe immediately took charge of a sleeping Alex while Robin carried Edie into the house.

“God, you poor love doing that journey on your own,” exclaimed Lucy, “Follow me, and we’ll get them settled and then we’ll have a cuppa.”

Robin followed her and Joe up the stairs and turned left down a short landing. On the left was a door to a bathroom and they were two further doors, one to the right and one straight ahead, which Lucy led them into.

The room was long and relatively narrow with a window seat at the end overlooking the garden, and, Robin could just make out, a distant view of the sea. There was a built-in wardrobe immediately to the right of the door and in the nook remaining were sturdy whitewashed pine bunk beds, dressed in blue, yellow and white checked bedding that picked out the periwinkle colour of the walls. On the left side of the room was an old-fashioned wooden school desk and chair, which looked somewhat at odds with the fresh colour scheme of the rest of the room.

“This was Stick’s room when we were kids,” she explained, smiling. “I’ve never quite had the heart to get rid of his old desk, he used to spend hours up here reading, studying and working out his teenage angst. I hoped one day he might want it for…well, never mind. Let’s get these little ones settled, shall we? You must be gasping for a drink.”

It took only minutes to get Alex and Edie settled. Robin had changed them both into pyjamas at the last service station on their journey south, and although they’d slept for a significant chunk of the trip, the busy weekend and late night at their uncle’s wedding had thoroughly wiped them out.

Robin settled herself into the room next door, which had once been Lucy’s and was now tastefully decorated in shades of pink and white, freshened up, changed and headed downstairs where Lucy and Joe were sat in the kitchen with tea and scones.

“Oh my God! I have never been more pleased to see a teapot in my life!” exclaimed Robin, dropping into a chair beside Lucy. They were soon laughing at Robin’s stories of Jonathan’s wedding and discussing the next stage of Joe’s renovation plans for the house and things for Robin and the children to do around the village. Eventually, at just gone eleven, Robin was hit by a crashing wave of tiredness and dragged herself gratefully off to bed.

Joe looked at his Lucy’s smiling face as she tidied the mugs and plates into the dishwasher.

“You haven’t told her about Saturday yet, have you?”

“Nope. Ilsa and I agreed that it’s best she finds out as late as possible. I don’t want her to think she’ll be intruding and take off home, it’ll completely defeat the purpose of inviting her here in the first place.”

Joe shook his head indulgently and pulled his wife into his arms.

“You know if scheming was an Olympic sport, you and Ilsa would be gold medallists,” he kissed her softly for a few seconds then pulled away, his face concerned. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing Luce? I know you and Corm haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, it would be a shame for this to backfire and come between you now.”

“I’m sure. Beside we’re not really doing anything, just setting up the right conditions which will hopefully give them a nudge in the right direction.”

“Hmmm,” he replied thoughtfully, “I just hope they see it like that too.”

* * *

On Monday, Robin, Alex and Edie pottered around St Mawes with the Herberts as tour guides before they all headed back to Lucy and Joe’s for a barbecue. Robin, who had re-established firm friendships with both Lucy and Ilsa in a short space of time, had almost forgotten that St Mawes had also been Strike’s home, on and off, for many years.  
Inevitably, Ilsa pointed out several places that held memories for her which also involved her oldest friend - the spot on the beach where they’d hung out as teenagers; the boat shed with a wonky door latch that was known as a place for illicit fumbles; the country lane they’d walked to and from primary school; the mooring where Ted had kept his fishing boat and the gift shop she, and very briefly, Strike had both worked at one summer before he’d moved permanently to London.

Robin had never really thought about who Strike was before she’d met him, and on the rare occasions her mind had wandered, it had general been in the direction of an older Strike, the one who wore a red cap and returned time and time again to the magnetic lure of Charlotte Campbell.

That night she found herself laying in bed, picturing him as a toddler on the beach with Leda and Lucy; as a cheeky schoolboy chasing his friends down the hill; as a hormonal teenager going on a first date. She flushed at the thought of a teenage Strike and tried not to dwell too much on Ilsa’s comments about exactly how much attention he’d received from the girls of St Mawes. Tall, dark and appearing older than his years, he had been particularly popular when he came back from lengthy stints in London, which lent him an element of glamour and intrigue as well as a physique honed by hours in the boxing gym, trying to avoid Jeff Whittaker.

“The first time we all went to the beach that summer, I thought Gwen Arscott was going to eat him alive,” Ilsa had laughed, seemingly oblivious to Robin’s increasing discomfort at hearing the personal details of her new boss’s adolescence.

On Tuesday, Ilsa and Nick had plans with Ilsa’s parents and sister who was also down for the week, and with Lucy and Joe engrossed in decorating, Robin took the children to Carne beach. The mile-long stretch of golden sand made for a picture-perfect British bucket and spade day. Alex and Edie were in their element, having only experienced the pretty, but chilly beach at Whitby or sunny but soulless resorts abroad. They arrived back, pink-tinged despite liberal applications of sun cream throughout the day, sticky with ice cream and lightly coated in sand which Robin had found impossible to clean off.

“Baby powder,” said Lucy with a grin, “Best thing for getting sand off. There’s some in the bathroom cabinet if a shower doesn’t completely sort them out.”

Pondering what to do for the day over breakfast the following morning Robin remembered Strike telling her about the Gunnera passage at Trebah Gardens. She was discussing the directions and logistics with Lucy when Alex wandered in and overheard them talking about how much quicker the journey was by boat.

“We’re going on a boat?!” he looked up at her wide-eyed and grinning from ear to ear.

“Looks like we are now,” she laughed back.

On Thursday the weather finally broke. Robin, Alex and Edie watched the thunderstorm roll across the ocean from the window seat in Strike’s old bedroom, and she couldn’t help but imagine him sitting in the window seat watching a similar scene or reading one of his intellectual tomes.

_You have to stop this._

She kept telling herself the same thing over and over again, but the moment she let her mind drift it went straight to thoughts of Strike. It was just nostalgia, she reminded herself. That and the camaraderie they shared over work, and the way he instinctively knew what she needed when she was upset, and the way her supported her without any pressure or expectation. And then there was the way his arm felt around her shoulders, his still familiar, comforting smell of woody, spicy aftershave overlaid with tea and smoke…

_Stop it!_

By Thursday evening Robin was grateful to get the children into bed and collapse onto the sofa in the sitting room with Lucy and Ilsa. Joe and Nick had gone to the Victory for the evening, given the trio the chance of an unhindered girls’ night in. Lucy, who had been practising her sourdough making skills, had produced two fabulous pizzas – one topped with prosciutto, black olives and chargrilled artichokes, the other with goats cheese, red onions, spinach and roquito peppers. There was a plentiful supply of wine, and by way of change, Ilsa had brought along a bottle of parma violet flavoured gin, which was an intriguing shade of shimmering mauve and brought to mind the lava lamps of which Leda Strike had been so fond in the late seventies. They were already tipsy by the time they had finished the pizzas and opened the bottle.

“Parma violet?” squinted Robin, picking it up to read the label and swirl the liquid around.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had parma violets?” exclaimed Lucy, stunned.

“You’re forgetting she’s nearly ten years younger than us,” replied Ilsa, feigning disgruntlement as she poured generous measures into tumblers and passed one to Robin. “Sweets…like tiny Refreshers but perfume-y.”

Robin took a sip. It tasted sweet and flowery but not unpleasant, in fact, it was rather too easy to drink.

“Right!” said Ilsa, “Who’s for a good old-fashioned game of ‘Shag, Marry or Push off a Cliff? You can pick first Robin.”

Robin rolled her eyes but grinned.

“Okay…Jon Snow, Uthred of Bebbanburg or Jamie Fraser?”

“Who’s Uthred of Bebbanburg?” asked Lucy, totally mystified. She watched Game of Thrones from time to time with Joe and loved Outlander, but The Last Kingdom had completely passed her by. After much discussion and Googling of images on phones, the consensus was that all three women would pitch him over a cliff in favour of a bunk up with Jon and marrying Jamie.

It was Lucy’s turn next, and she opted for TV detectives. The choice of Idris Elba as Luther, Phillip Glenister as Gene Hunt and Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock produced mixed results, with Lucy favouring Cumberbatch, Ilsa opting for Elba, and Robin prevaricating wildly as to which she'd rather shag or marry (Sherlock had instantly been cliffed for being 'a smug clever dick').

“I know Gene Hunt's a bit wrong…okay, a lot wrong, by today’s standards,” she slurred slightly, giggling “…but I’d definitely let him fire up my Quattro!”

Lucy nudged Ilsa, “So you’re telling us retrosexual detectives with a liking for fags, beer and football get you going, are you Robin?”

“Hmmm,” she murmured dreamily, now on her second gin and completely missing the inference in Lucy’s question.

“My turn,” said Ilsa with a surreptitious wink in Lucy’s direction, “Musketeers. I know there’s four so you can only marry one, but you can double up on the shag or the cliff pushing.”

After making their own choices, Lucy and Ilsa turned to Robin.

“Well it’s a no brainer. D’Artagnan would have to go off the cliff, he’s too young, daft and pretty. Shag Aramis and Porthos and marry Athos.”

Lucy looked at Robin as if she was insane.

“Why in the name of all that is holy would you marry Athos? He’s moody, intense, far too fond of a drink and there’s always the potential that the crazy ex would come riding back over the horizon?”

Ilsa caught her eye over glass and smirked, as Robin, now really quite drunk, leapt to her favourite fictional character’s defence.

“He’s misunderstood, sensitive, intelligent and sexy as fuck! Have you seen the one with Ninon? Or the snog in the cupboard with Milady…and don’t even get me started on the beginning of ‘Death of a Hero’ in series three…”

“You know,” interrupted Ilsa, thoughtfully, “I just can’t see him in ‘that way’ at all, but I think that’s probably because he reminds me of Corm.”  
  
Robin nearly choked on her drink. “He looks nothing like Cormoran, what _are_ you on Ilsa?”

“He so does…look,” she found a picture of him online and showed it to Robin, before bringing up a rare photo of Strike on her phone, “See?” she asked triumphantly.

Robin flushed scarlet.

“I think we’ve all had way too much of the parma violet stuff…” she announced, getting to her feet. “I’m going to make coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not entirely where I planned to go with this chapter, but I got bit carried away with Lucy, Ilsa and Robin and was in the mood for a bit of fun so...here it is!


	30. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran and Robin both get surprise visitors.

“And that’s a wrap, well done everyone. We can leave everything in place for tomorrow, so just get off home so you’re good to go in the morning.”

Ciara Porter stretched, cat-like, along the length of the purple velvet chaise longue she was laying on, before swinging herself gracefully to her feet. It had been a long evening shoot at Greenwich Observatory but she was buzzing and also, she realised, ridiculously horny.

She was currently single and with Strike pleading work every time she’d contacted him recently, it had been a good few weeks since her needs had been attended to by anything that wasn't battery operated. Spending the last several hours modelling next season’s range of Agent Provocateur underwear to a soundtrack of seductive slow R & B had done nothing to calm her libido.

She checked her phone and saw that it was just after ten o’clock.

“Mila,” she wheedled to the wardrobe girl, who was checking the outfits for the following day, “Can I hold on to this?” Ciara shot her a cheeky smile as she indicated the ‘outfit’ she was wearing.

Mila saw the twinkle in Ciara’s eye and grinned back, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

“Go on then,” she laughed, “But don’t have too much fun in it…or out of it, we’ve got a 7am start tomorrow!”

Ciara blew her a kiss as she pulled her coat on and headed out to her waiting car.

* * *

Strike had finished early that day to allow himself extra time to pack before getting an early night. He’d managed the packing and an early evening trip to the local chippy, then, after three days of work as gruelling as he dared inflict on himself, promptly fell asleep on the sofa.

Although it was gone half past ten, he decided on a bath rather than a shower in the hope of easing his aching stump and getting back off to sleep as quickly as possible. He set the taps running, stripped down to his boxers and was just about to light a cigarette when the doorbell rang.

He opened the door only to be immediately propelled backward into his hallway as the door slammed shut behind the force of nature that was Ciara Porter.

“You…Mr Strike…have been working far too hard and I am here to make sure you get some well-deserved R & R,” she dropped her large Birkin bag to the floor and shrugged off her cream silk trench coat to reveal nothing but a pale pink longline plunge bra which was overlaid in black lace and showcased her pale, perfect breasts to perfection, a matching thong and black, lace topped hold-up stockings. In her Louboutin stilettos she was as tall as Strike.

“Ciara, I…” he managed to gasp out, once he got over the initial, not unpleasant shock of her arrival.

“It looks like you knew I was coming,” she grinned, casting her eyes lasciviously over his naked torso as she backed him up against the cloakroom door. Her teeth nibbled tantalisingly at his earlobe and her hands travelled down his broad chest, tracing the v of dark hair that covered his stomach and tapered down into the elastic waistband of his boxers.

“Ciara, stop…I really…really can’t…” he finally managed to get the words out, gently grab her wrists and fend her off just as her hand reached it ultimate destination.

She stepped back, her expression one of surprised consternation.

“Christ Corm, you really have been working too hard,” she quipped, simultaneously embarrassed and concerned. She’d never known Strike to have any issues with rising to the occasion, even when taken off guard.

He shrugged apologetically, “I’m sorry, it’s not you and it’s not work…hang on just let me turn the bath off.”

He returned a couple of minutes later dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to find Ciara emerging from the cloakroom barefoot, having changed into the pale grey skinny jeans and slouchy pink top that she’d worn to the photo shoot that evening. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, until they both spoke at the same time.

“I really am sorry, I’d never want you to…”

“What’s wrong? Really?

Strike sighed. He looked more self-conscious that Ciara could ever remember seeing him.

“Look, you don’t need to stay and listen to my crap, I’m sure you’ve got better things you could be doing.”

“Corm, we’re supposed to be friends with benefits,” she smiled affectionately at him. “I know we tend to be more about the benefits usually, but I do see you as a friend too, and I’m a good listener. Now, where’s your whisky?”

She poured them both generous glasses of Cardhu malt whisky – Strike had long since switched allegiance from the Arran that Charlotte had first bought him – handed one to Strike and perched herself neatly on an armchair. She watched him as he took a sip of the amber liquid and tried to gather his thoughts.

“Have you met someone?” Ciara asked, her tone level. The terms of their arrangement had always been clear and unwavering, and she was fine with that. She’d taken numerous breaks over the years for relationships that had ultimately not stood the test of time, but she’d never known Strike do likewise.

“Not exactly,” he replied, failing to meet her eye as he took another sip of his drink.

Suddenly an image flashed through Ciara’s mind. She’d picked up a celebrity gossip magazine the previous week whilst on a shoot, but only fleetingly seen the small article about Strike and Robin before being called for make-up.

“It’s her isn’t it? Your old assistant?”

Strike huffed a deep sigh, put his glass down on the coffee table and let his head drop back against the sofa cushions.

“Has she ditched you? I saw the photos.”

“No! She’s not ditched me, we’re not…we've never been together. That was a set up be her soon to be ex husband.”

“Riiiiight.” Ciara still looked puzzled. “But you want to be together, or at least you want to be with her?”

“She’s not divorced yet.”

“Meh,” shrugged Ciara, swallowing a large mouthful of whisky, “Potayto, potahto…”

“And she’s starting work for me again next week.”

Ciara raised an eyebrow with a hint of derision, a silent ‘so what’?

“She’s got two young children.”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“No…yes…oh _fuck_ , I don’t know!”

“Do you like the kids?”

“They’re great, I mean from what I’ve seen of them. Seem to take after Robin more than her twat of an ex luckily, especially her little girl, Edie.”

A mental image of her triumphantly holding aloft the giant earthworm she’d dug out of Ilsa’s garden with her bare hand popped instantly into his mind and he couldn’t help the upward twitch of his lips.

Ciara laughed. “Cormoran, darling, you’re completely screwed, you do realise that?”

His smile dropped and he shook his head.

“I can’t go there. Like I said, she’s still married…”

“Technically…”

“…and I know what it’s like to be the kid when your mum starts bringing random men home.”

“Oh, for God’s sake…you’re not random men, and do you really think Robin is the type to have multiple flings?”

“No of course not, but those kids won’t know that. Anyway, Robin probably won’t want to get into another relationship for the foreseeable future. She might want to play the field a bit – she’s only been with Matthew – and let’s face it, she could do a lot better than me.”

Ciara moved from the armchair to sit beside Strike on the sofa and took his large hand in her significantly smaller one.

“Probably…might…could do…don’t you think Robin is the one that should be making those decisions?”

He looked at her quizzically.

“I’m not making any decisions for her, I’m just staying out of the equation, trying not to make things more complicated.”

“And by doing so, you are denying her a choice. I’ve seen the photos of the two of you in Dulwich. I think if you tell her how you feel, there’s every chance that she will choose you.”

He swirled the remaining whisky in his glass, he’d only had a few sips. For some reason it just wasn’t hitting the spot tonight. He replaced the half full glass on the table again.

“I haven’t completely ruled out telling her, just…not yet.”

“Look, Corm, timing can be a wonderful thing, but it can also be a load of old bollocks. Sometimes you just need to go with your gut…or your heart.”

He thought back to the split second in the Tottenham the night Robin split up with Matthew, when she had looked away and just missed his hand reaching out for hers. His arrival at Hastings Road the morning after they’d renewed their engagement. Reaching the church in Masham half an hour too late and seeing her at her reception in the split second the champagne had hit and she’d momentarily relaxed enough to look genuinely happy.

“Ça vient si vite, le moment où il n'y a plus rien à attendre,” Ciara murmured.

“Proust? You’ll have to help me out, I studied Latin not French.”

“It comes so soon, the moment there is nothing left to wait for,” she smiled.

Ciara was right, he thought, timing is bollocks.

* * *

It was barely 5am on Friday morning when Robin was woken by a cacophony of birdsong ringing through her open bedroom window.

She rolled onto her back, and lay there, dead still for a few minutes, waiting unsuccessfully for the sensation that she was falling backwards through the mattress to cease. There were no woodpeckers outside, but it certainly felt as though one was pounding at her skull; her tongue felt like a doormat and even the slightest movement caused what was left of the previous night’s pizza, gin and wine to roll treacherously in her stomach.

“Ohhh, fuck it,” she groaned quietly.

She knew she’d managed almost a pint of water after the round of coffees she’d made the previous night, and had gone to bed feeling tipsy but relatively coherent, not to mention smug about her forward thinking – the water would surely negate the effects of the alcohol she’d consumed. In the cold light of day, however, it appeared she was very much mistaken.

Dragging herself out of bed with considerable effort, she peeked into Alex and Edie’s room to check they were still asleep before tip toeing downstairs to the cloakroom to throw up as quietly as she could manage. She flushed away the evidence, swilled her mouth out with cold water and sprayed air freshener before heading to the kitchen where she found ibuprofen and gulped them down with a glass of orange and grapefruit juice whilst waiting for the kettle to boil.

She rinsed the glass, filled it with more water and took it, along with her black, sugary coffee to sit on the rattan sofa in the corner of the kitchen. Early morning sunlight was already pouring through the glass of the bi-fold doors, providing a soothing warmth whilst she waited for the painkillers to kick in. Her flashbacks to the previous evening were less comforting.

_Oh bugger…not the Gene Hunt crush…_

And then she recalled Ilsa’s comparison of Athos and Strike, something she’d never consciously registered before. Between the two incidents she might has well have jumped up and down on the sofa and announced that she wanted to shag him senseless.

The realisation that that was the first expression that had popped into her head hit Robin like a ton of bricks. She’d spent weeks after her wedding to Matthew wondering if she was in love with Strike, a conundrum she had never entirely resolved, with the result that it had inevitably lingered in her subconscious since they’d been back in touch. It had never occurred to her though, quite how much she simply _wanted_ him. It had, she reasoned to herself, been several months since she’d had sex and considerably longer since she’d had good sex. Of course, Strike was basically six foot three of pure masculinity, it was hardly surprising her equilibrium had taken a hit.

She shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of such wandering thoughts and regretted it immediately. With another tortured groan she lay down on the sofa and let the distant sound of the ocean lull her back into a restless sleep.

* * *

Strike pulled up outside Ted and Joan’s…. _no, Lucy and Joe’s_ …house just before half past six. He parked on the road as the drive was taken up with both their Renault and Robin’s enormous Audi, and levered himself gingerly out of the car. He’d made just one brief stop during the five and half hour journey from London, and despite only a few hours sleep prior to Ciara’s unexpected arrival, he was still wired as he made his way up the path to the front door.

He quietly turned his key in the lock and frowned slightly. He could hear music coming from the kitchen, very softly, but he’d never known Lucy to be one for having the radio on and he’d noticed that the master bedroom curtains were drawn as he pulled up.

He realised with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that it must be Robin who was up, and as much as he longed to see her, to talk to her, her wasn’t quite ready for that conversation just yet. Still, he was desperate for tea and toast, so he made his way quietly through to the kitchen.

Robin was halfway into the larder with her back to him, wearing just an oversized t-shirt and fluffy socks, and he paused, remembering her issue with people coming up behind her, but not being sure that announcing his presence was a much better option in the early morning quiet.

“Morning,” he greeted her, opting for what he thought was the lesser of two evils.

Robin jumped about a foot in the air and spun round, her face a mixture of panic and anger.

“What the fu…Cormoran? You frightened the life out of me. What are you doing here?”

She sounded breathless and looked flushed and slightly tearful, but still cross.

“Erm, it’s my sister’s house,” he shrugged, “And I’m here for the weekend…obviously.”

“Obviously?”

Strike looked at her perplexed expression. Clearly it wasn’t just him that Ilsa and Lucy had been fudging the truth with.

“Yeah, for the party tomorrow…”

“What party?”

“Have Lucy and Ilsa not told you? It’s Ted and Joan’s golden wedding anniversary weekend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might be able to tell, I have indeed endured a Parma Violet gin hangover, except I wasn't as lucky as Robin and mine lasted three days!


	31. Foot in Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike offers to help out when Robin decides a shopping trip to Truro is in order.  
> While he finally confesses his feelings and intentions to Ilsa, Robin makes a painful discovery.

“It’s their what?!”

“Golden wedding anniversary…big party tomorrow night.” Strike was not surprised that Robin was surprised. He knew only too well what her reaction to Lucy’s suggestion that she join them for the week would have been had she known about the occasion.

“Bloody hell, why didn’t anyone tell me? I was planning to head home early Sunday, but I’ll get sorted and get out of your hair tomorrow if you’ve got a family thing going on…”

“Robin, you’re not in anyone’s hair. You’re a very welcome guest, for the week and for tomorrow night. Now calm down,” Strike chuckled, “There’s no need for you to go anywhere, really.”

She looked at him, a little bewildered and a lot frustrated by the unexpected turn of events. Robin did not like not knowing where she stood.

“Well, if we’re staying, I at least need to get Ted and Joan a card and a present from me and the kids…”

“You really don’t need…”

“Cormoran, stop telling me what I do or don’t need to do!” Her tone was sharp, “Sorry. But I want to get them something, I know we’ve never met but I’ve heard so much about them and fifty years is quite an achievement. Besides, I’ll need to get something to wear if there’s a party…where is it?”

Strike suppressed an affectionate shake of the head. He’d had enough experience of dealing with Ilsa and, in more recent years Lucy, when they were in this state of mind to know that argument was futile.

“It’s at the Hotel Tresanton,” he replied.

Robin vaguely recalled seeing a television programme about the venue the previous summer. It had caught her attention as she was channel hopping purely because the location had been mentioned. She seemed to remember it was quite an upmarket venue and wondered if her green dress would be a bit much.

“You could probably wear whatever you wore to your brother’s wedding,” suggested Strike, with his uncanny ability to read her mind, despite not having a clue what she’d worn to the wedding. “I mean, if you didn’t want to go shopping.”

“Hmmm, maybe. I’ll see. We’ve not checked out Truro yet so it’ll be a day out anyway.”

Alex wandered into the kitchen just as she spoke.

“Yay, are we still going to the castle today?”

 _Bugger_ …she mentally chastised herself. She’d promised him a trip to St Mawes Castle which she'd completely forgotten about through the lingering fog of hangover and surprise arrival of Strike.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m not sure. Mummy needs to pop to Truro and do some shopping first, but we’ll have something nice there for lunch and if there’s time we’ll stop at the castle on the way back.”

Alex pulled a face that reminded Strike momentarily of a petulant Matthew, although he couldn’t help agreeing with the sentiment. He’d certainly have rather spent the day running around a castle than shopping when he was seven…or even at forty-five, if he was honest.

He watched Robin as she got to her feet and began pouring orange juice into glasses and coco pops – a school holiday treat - into bowls. He could hear Edie making her way downstairs at speed and in a matter of seconds she hurtled into the kitchen, a miniature strawberry blonde whirlwind.

“Whassa matter?” she stopped in her tracks, immediately registering her brother’s grumpy expression. Apparently she had Robin’s people skills too, thought Strike fondly.

“We’ve got to go shopping,” moaned Alex.

“Shopping?”

“Yes, we have,” stated Robin firmly, helping her daughter onto one of the large kitchen chairs and placing her cereal and juice in front of her. “I’ve just found out…” she glanced up at Strike, “…that we’re going to very special party tomorrow, so we need a card and a present and you, young man,” she addressed a still disgruntled Alex, “Need something smart to wear, I’ve only packed shorts and T-shirts.”

“Can I wear my rainbow dress again Mummy?”

Robin frowned at Edie, trying to remember what kind of state it was in after Jon and Jay’s wedding. She couldn’t recall any food or drink related mishaps.

“I expect so.”

“Goody. I got my p’lice hat too,” she grinned.

“Yes, well…we’ll see about that.”

Edie appeared completely unfazed by the turn of events so long as she could wear her hat. Alex, only slightly mollified at the mention of a party, was still looking at St Mawes Castle website on his tablet while he ate.

“It’s got gargoyles and canons and everything…” he sighed, moodily.

“And it will still have them this afternoon…or tomorrow morning, depending how we get on in Truro.”

“Tomorrow?!”

Strike took his mug over to where Robin stood at the sink washing up the breakfast things, deposited it on the side and picked up a tea towel. It was nearly eight now and Lucy and Joe were up and moving about overhead. They’d be surprised to see him too, he thought. He’d been planning to leave London at about six and get down sometime early in the afternoon but after his conversation with Ciara he’d been wide awake and eager to get on the road. He realised now that if Lucy and Joe had plans around the house, his early arrival would not go down particularly well. His sister had changed a lot in recent years, but not that much!

“I guess it would be easier if you could have a child-free shopping trip?” Strike asked Robin sotto voce, trying not to lean inappropriately close to her ear in an effort for the children not hear him. He needn’t have worried, as she edged away slightly, aware that she still hadn’t gotten around to brushing her teeth.

“Well,” she shrugged ruefully, “Joys of single parenting, might as well get used to it. Not that Matthew was exactly forthcoming with offers of help with childcare.”

“It’s been a long time since I visited St Mawes Castle. There are some great Latin inscriptions on the stonework and I could do with a refresher course. If you and the kids were happy with me taking them, of course?”

“Cormoran Strike,” Robin turned to him in not entirely mock amazement, “Are you actually offering to…babysit?”

He shrugged. “I know it’s probably hard to believe, but babysitting has basically become my side hustle over the last few years, isn’t that right Luce?”

He knew she was there without even turning around, could feel the tense surprise radiating from her at finding him in her kitchen several hours earlier than anticipated.

“What’s that? And what are you doing here already?”

“Couldn’t sleep so decided to get down early.” he replied cheerfully, “Don’t worry I won’t get under your feet, I think I may have scored myself a job for the morning, was just telling Robin about my epic childminding skills,” he winked.

She smiled and shook her head at him in spite of herself.

“Yes, well you’re probably so good at it because you’ve never completely grown up yourself,” she stated drily, restraining herself to just a subtle dig at her brother’s ever frustrating refusal to settle down.

“Why don’t we see what the kids think. Alex, Edie – how would you like to go with Cormoran to St Mawes Castle while I go shopping?”

The idea was met with huge enthusiasm and both children instantly ran off to start getting ready.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely. We’ll be fine.”

* * *

It was difficult to believe that the previous day had seen nothing but high winds and torrential rain. The sky was cloudless, the sun deliciously warm and the sea a sparkling cerulean beyond the lush green grass that surrounded St Mawes Castle.

Strike hauled himself out of his car and surveyed the landscape for a few moments before going to help Edie and Alex out of the back, ignoring Ilsa’s teasing grin as she waited with Logan beside her own vehicle.

She’d popped in hoping to catch Robin as he’d been about to set off that morning and suggested that they join them for their outing and burn off some excess energy having been housebound due to the previous day’s storms. Brooke was also out shopping for the day with her gran, aunt and cousin, whilst Nick helped his father-in-law with some decorating.

As Strike surveyed the landscape he was grateful for the extra pair of hands, and more specifically, legs. He’d forgotten quite how hilly the site of the castle was, and how wayward pre-schoolers could be. It had been a long time since he’d helped out with Logan at the same age, and that had generally been at home so Ilsa and Nick could have a night out. He strongly suspected a free-range Edie was going to be just a little more challenging.

They made their way in through the guardhouse, Edie and Logan running ahead with Ilsa in hot pursuit, whilst Alex’s attention was immediately caught by the carvings in the walls that he’d been looking at online that morning.

“What’s the funny writing underneath?” he asked Strike, bemused.

Strike laughed, “That’s Latin,” he replied, squinting up at the stonework and translating one of the many flattering inscriptions about Henry VIII and his son Edward that were dotted around the castle.

They continued on through the castle, with Ilsa taking charge on some of the more treacherous staircases, much to Strike’s relief. By midday they were ready for an early lunch and headed out into the landscaped gardens, where they found a spot to enjoy their picnic.

Robin had insisted on packing lunch for Strike, Alex and Edie before leaving for Truro, and Strike opened the cooler bag to find both cheese and ham salad sandwiches, crisps, fruit and buttered scones with jam which she’d made with the children the previous day. There were bottles of water, and tucked into a large exterior pocket, tea in a familiar, ancient tartan flask, the sight of which made Strike’s heart lurch unexpectedly. He was fairly certain it was the same flask that had accompanied them to Barrow all those years ago.

Ilsa watched him contemplatively as he paused for slightly longer than was necessary to inspect the flask.

“So what brings you down so much earlier than planned?”

“It’s only half a day or so.”

“Still…early, and braving childcare on your own…” her lips twitched with amusement.

“Yes, well thanks to you and Lucy not letting on about the anniversary party Robin felt the need to go shopping for a card and present, and for something for Alex to wear.” He paused for a moment to pour his tea and gazed into the distance to where the three children were chasing each other around the canons that pointed out to sea. “What are you two playing at?”

“Nothing,” replied Ilsa, taking a sip from her can of orange Fanta, “We both just thought Robin could use a break…”

“And?”

Ilsa sighed, irrepressible. “And that you two could do with a bloody hard shove in the right direction.”

Strike eyed her, deadpan. “What direction would that be exactly?”

“You’ve lost her once, don’t do it again.”

There was a pause whilst he deliberated over his answer.

“I won’t,” he said quietly.

Ilsa’s head spun round to look at him.

“You’re right,” he nodded, smiling nervously, “I’ve waited long enough. Whether or not she’ll have me is another thing entirely, especially under the circumstances, but I’ve made my mind up. I’m going to tell her how I feel and then the decision is up to her.”

“When?!” exclaimed Ilsa, feet twitching with excitement.

“I dunno, sometime over the weekend. When it feels like the right moment, I guess.”

“Well,” Ilsa stretched in the sunshine and beamed contentedly at her best friend, “About bloody time.”

* * *

Robin spent a surprisingly relaxed morning pottering around Truro. She’d had no qualms about leaving Alex and Edie with Strike, knowing that he was more than capable of keeping them safe and that they were happy with the arrangement. Still, it was a new experience, having been a stay-at-home mum for so many years and only really relying on Kathy outside of school and nursery.

She went to a small department store first and picked up some smart, navy trousers for Alex which would double as spare school trousers, along with a bright blue and yellow checked shirt which was smart but not too stuffy. A quick check of Edie’s dress had revealed it just needed a spot clean before another wear, but she picked her up a pretty, sparkly headband in rainbow coloured crystals to wear with it, forgetting her daughter’s determination to wear the police hat she took everywhere currently. Meandering through the womenswear section on the way out, she treated herself to some new summer pyjamas and a wrap, feeling deliciously indulgent. They were prettier than anything she currently owned and technically completely unnecessary, but she justified it by reminding herself that she was on holiday and they were in the sale.

Having got the practical jobs out of the way, she started her search for a card and gift for Ted and Joan, starting with pretty Lemon Street indoor market with it’s towering palm trees and glass roof, before wandering through the cobbled streets. As she meandered from shop to shop, Robin found her mind wandering too.

She wondered what had prompted Strike to arrive so early. Recalled his insistence that she stay for the weekend and the party tomorrow, and remembered his proximity at the kitchen sink, warmth radiating from his body along with the combined scent of tea and smoke. It was a smell that had never ceased to elicit a visceral reaction from her on every one of the rare occasions she had encountered it over the intervening years, for reasons she had never wished to dwell on.

Eventually she found a suitable anniversary card and a beautiful photo frame hand made from clear glass shot through with swirls of different shades of blue/green and speckles of gold. Whilst the shop assistant was wrapping it for her, her phone notification went off for the third time that morning. She grinned as she opened it up, having already received photos of the trip to St Mawes Castle from both Strike – a selfie of him, Alex and Logan pretending to be gargoyles; and from Ilsa of Strike in the distance, holding Edie up to look into the telescope that pointed out over Castle Cove.

This message, however, was from Andy, Kathy’s husband.

> **Hi Rob – hope you’re having a good time. Kath asked me to let you know that Eloise Melissa arrived safely at 10.12am, weighing 8lb 13oz!! They’re both doing great, her mum’s bringing in Harry later on. He’s only seen photos so far and is already besotted, as am I. Look forward to introducing you next week xxx**

Robin’s hand flew to her mouth and she felt happy tears welling up in her eyes.

“You okay, my love,” asked the shop assistant with her strong Cornish lilt.

“I’m fine,” Robin beamed back at her, “My best friend just had a baby girl.”

“Awww, lovely news.”

“Yes, it really is. Thank you.”

Robin took her bag and headed back to Lemon Street where she’d seen a shop that sold beautiful baby clothes and gifts. She picked out a cute outfit and a little cuddly toy, before realising it had been hours since she had eaten.

She made her way to the café on the upper floor and ordered a panini before taking her latte out to sit by the balcony, feeling ridiculously happy. At last everything in her life seemed to be going right. Her best friend had just had a beautiful new baby, she was starting a new job, and now she had a party to look forward to the following evening. She’d had a brief chat with Lucy about the occasion and decided to wear her green dress, although now she was now cursing her decision as she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what Strike would think of it about ten times an hour. She remembered his assumption that she no longer had it and hoped he would be pleasantly surprised.

She hadn’t been seated for long when two women about ten years her senior sat down at a neighbouring table, clearly settling in for a lengthy lunch.

“I can’t believe it,” said one to the other. “I mean, I know she must be knocking forty but she’s stunning. What on earth would she see in him?”

Her friend laughed at her. “We’ll never know, will we? But not everyone is about the looks, he’s certainly an interesting character…anyway you shouldn’t be dissing one of our own.”

It briefly flickered through Robin’s mind that they could be talking about Strike, but she dismissed the idea almost as quickly as she thanked the waitress for the speedy arrival of a delicious looking panini oozing with tuna, cheese and just the right quantity of finely chopped red onion. _Seriously_ , she reprimanded herself, _you’re getting obsessed. What are the odds?_

“I can only assume he’s got an eight-inch tongue and can breathe through his ears!” the first woman continued, with a filthy laugh, “Shame I never got to find out when we were briefly at high school together…”

“Gwen!” her friend shrieked, laughing but clearly a little embarrassed. “You can’t believe everything you read in the papers. The other week they were saying he was back with his old business partner and she’d left her husband for him.”

Robin froze momentarily, before downing a large swig of too-hot coffee, scalding her throat in the process.

“Yeah, well she’s very attractive too but…Ciara Porter…come on. Even I’d be tempted to hop on the other bus.”

Gwen’s companion said nothing, but shook her head, although Robin didn’t notice as she turned to make sure they couldn’t see her face from their table. She reached into her bag and pulled out her mobile phone. Another photo had arrived from Ilsa, this time of Strike, Alex and Edie sat next to one of the canons, smiling happily for the camera. She hastily closed it down, opened her internet browser and entered ‘Cormoran Strike’ before clicking the ‘News’ filter.

The stories that scrolled down the screen were short and insubstantial, the photo’s accompanying them, less so. Ciara Porter entering Strike’s flat late the previous night. In one image a gust of wind had lifted the short silk trench coat, making it glaringly obvious that whatever she was wearing underneath, there was very little of it.

Heart pounding, and with a lump in her throat that owed nothing to paninis or happy tears, Robin replaced the phone in her bag, got to her feet and made her way downstairs and back to her car, leaving her untouched panini to go cold on the table next to the gossiping women.


	32. The Truth will Out

Robin returned to St Mawes the way she had driven out to Truro, taking the longer, scenic route which was surprisingly faster due to its lack of a ferry crossing. Concentrating on the roads distracted her somewhat from the conversation she’d overheard in the café and photos she’d seen on the internet, but she still felt distinctly wobbly and tearful.

Eventually, just a few miles from Lucy’s, she pulled in at St Just in Roseland church, got out of the car and seated herself on a bench overlooking the creek to give herself a thorough talking to.

 _You’re being utterly ridiculous_ , said the voice in her head. _He’s entitled to see whoever he wants. Whatever you might be imagining between you, you’re not a couple._

 _What the hell am I doing here then? Why am I here, in his family home, invited to a family party? I’m not his partner, I’ve only been friends with Ilsa and Lucy for five minutes. I should pack our things when I get back and leave_.

_But what about the job?_

Her heart sank. Robin wanted her job with the agency more than she had wanted almost anything for a very long time. If the thought of Strike with someone else made her feel this way, could she still do it? She decided she could, for the short term at least. She’d be mostly working from home. It had been her own idea to go into the office when she could, but it wasn’t a requirement of her role. She’d do the job as well as she could for as long as she could, build up some experience and then, if it got too difficult or circumstances changed, she could look for another investigative job elsewhere.

But, she realised, that meant Strike must never know how she felt about him, and that meant quelling the burning desire to leave St Mawes as soon as possible. She would, she told herself, just have to put her big girl pants on for the next forty-eight hours.

 _I’ve been lying to myself for years_ , she mused, wiping away tears as she stood up and headed back to the car. _Two more days won’t make that much difference._

* * *

Pulling up at the house, Robin made her way in via the kitchen door and found Lucy sat at the table attempting to untangle a significant length of bunting. An audiobook was playing in the background but otherwise the house was quiet, much to Robin’s bemusement. She’d seen Strike’s car outside so knew he and the children were back from the castle.

“Hi Lucy, where is everyone?”

“Joe’s popped to pick the boys up from the station and Stick and your two are in the sitting room. Not sure you’ll get much out of them mind,” she grinned. “They’ve had a very busy morning.”

Robin went into the hall and put her head around the sitting room door. Alex was on the floor, having nodded off propped up against a bean bag watching The Sword in the Stone. Edie was crashed out along two of the sections of three-seater sofa. Strike was sitting on the third, head back, snoring quietly, a battered copy of ‘A Dog So Small’ in his lap.  
  
Robin swore under her breath, dashed away a tear that had escaped, took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen.

“Fancy a cup of tea Lucy,” she asked, as much for an excuse not to have to face her host directly for a few more minutes as because she actually wanted one.

“Great, then you can show me what you got in Truro.”

A few minutes later, Robin was placing down a pot of tea and the remainder of yesterday’s scones on the table. She didn’t feel like eating but her stomach was rumbling loudly, reminding her of the abandoned panini.

She’d barely poured two mugs and picked up the bag containing Ted and Joan’s anniversary present before Lucy reached across the table and covered her hand with her own.

“Are you okay Robin? You look really…out of sorts.”

“I’m fine,” Robin lied, “Just a bit worse for wear after last night.”

“Tell me about it,” agreed Lucy, although she wasn’t convinced. “Let’s have a look then.”

Robin carefully unwrapped the glass photo frame and showed it to Lucy.

“Oh Robin, that’s really beautiful, they’ll love it. It’ll be perfect for one of their many photos of the two of them on their old boat.”

“Good,” said Robin, “I’m glad you think it’s okay. I wish you’d told me about tomorrow sooner though.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, we knew you might be less likely to come if you knew there was a family thing going on, and we so wanted you here.”

“We?” Robin raised an eyebrow.

“Me and Ilsa,” Lucy smiled back, then seeing her slightly crestfallen expression, “…and Stick of course, that goes without saying. Between you and me, I don’t think him coming down early had as much to do with insomnia as he’s making out.”

Robin gave a short, derisive laugh.

“Well I hope you’re not implying that has anything to do with me, I’m pretty sure his…” His what? She had no idea where Ciara Porter fitted in. “…his girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“His what?!” Lucy dropped the scone she was buttering.

“Well, maybe not girlfriend, but he’s seeing someone. It’s all over the gossip columns…do you remember Ciara Porter, the model from the case we worked years ago?”

“No idea,” Lucy responded, looking as tense as Robin had ever seen her. “Will you excuse me a moment…loo…”

* * *

“No, no, no! That’s all wrong,” Ilsa was ranting down the telephone. “He told me today he was planning to tell Robin how he feels about her, let me have a…” she had Lucy on speaker and was searching and scrolling as she spoke… “What. The. Actual. Fuck?!”

“I know, it’s a bloody disaster. Thank God he didn’t rock up here with her. But if he was talking to you about Robin…what the hell’s he playing at?”

“I have no idea, but leave it to me, I’ll find out this evening.”

* * *

Sat at the head of a table for twelve on the terrace at the Victory that evening, Strike was beginning to feel as though he was in some kind of Agatha Christie novel. Whilst the kids were all behaving impeccably, the atmosphere between the adults was as weird as any he’d ever been in.

Lucy, who he’d imagined would have gotten over his early arrival by now, was still radiating resentment. Ilsa was looking daggers at him on an alarmingly frequent basis, and he was sure he’d seen Nick telling her to calm her down in between apologetic glances in Strike’s direction. Joe was simply taking in the entire scene and trying his best to keep the stilted conversation flowing, seemingly as bemused as Strike.

And then there was Robin. She’d been quietly appreciative of his efforts with Alex and Edie, and the tin of toffees he’d bought her from the castle gift shop. She’d offered to reimburse him for the few bits he’d bought for Edie and Alex, which he’d insisted was his treat, but now he was wondering if he’d offended her in some way. She seemed to have been avoiding him since she’d returned from Truro, insisting the children needed showers before they went out for dinner, cleaning Edie’s dress in the utility room, and taking herself off to her room, saying that she wanted to get ahead with packing so she could help Lucy with anything that needed doing towards the party the following day.

Meals finished, the waitress clearing away took their orders for coffee, and Lucy spotted Strike patting himself down to find his cigarettes.

“It’s getting chilly,” she stated, “Let’s move inside.” Her gimlet-eyed look at Joe brooked no argument and soon they were all rounding up the kids to relocate indoors. Robin and Nick followed with Alex, Edie, Brooke and Logan. Only Ilsa stayed put.

“I think I’ll stay here and keep Corm company while he has a smoke,” she stated, shooting Lucy a meaningful glance.

Strike didn’t know whether to be grateful or terrified.

Alone on the terrace, silence descended between the two friends. Strike located his cigarettes, lit up and took a long drag, bracing himself to speak.

“What’s going on Cormoran?” Ilsa fixed him with a steely gaze and for a moment he didn’t quite register what she was saying. She never, ever used his full name.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorted, “Everyone seems to have the hump with me this evening. All I’ve done is turn up early and help out with some babysitting but you and Lucy are acting like I’m public enemy number one and Robin’s barely said a word to me since she got back from Truro.”

“Well, it’s hardly bloody surprising is it? After what you were up to last night.”

Strike frowned at her. He hadn’t been up to anything the previous night.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ve seen the photos. Honestly Corm, I know you’re my oldest friend, but I can’t believe you’ve been such a…dickhead! You don’t have a hope of getting anywhere with Robin now, assuming you weren’t taking the piss when we had that conversation this morn…”

“Ilsa, stop!” Strike did his best not to raise his voice over her torrent of disbelief and anger. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

She tutted loudly and glared at him before rummaging in her handbag and pulling out her mobile phone. With a couple of flicks of her fingers, she handed it over to him, watching intently as he skimmed the screen with his thumb.

“Ow, bollocks,” he cursed, as his cigarette burnt right down to his fingertips. He crushed it out in the ashtray and looked up at Ilsa, his face white.

“Had Robin seen these?”

“Of course she’s bloody seen them, why do you think she’s been avoiding you all afternoon? How could you do that, and then come down here saying you’ve got feelings for Robin? I know your relationship with Charlotte fucked with your head but this is ridiculous.”

When she finally stopped, Ilsa realised that Cormoran had his head in his hands.

“Corm…are you alright?”

He looked at her, dark eyes glittering in the gathering dusk, his face etched with despair.

“Nothing happened between me and Ciara last night, but…Jesus, Robin’s never going to believe that is she? It’s all gone to shit again. I’m just going to have to accept that it’s not meant to happen for us.”

Ilsa wasn’t sure if the croak on his last word was the result of smoking or something else. She reached over and took Strike’s hand in hers.

“What’s going on Corm? Really?”

He waited for a minute or two as the waitress returned with their coffees, before lighting up a second cigarette and telling her the whole story.

“You need to talk to Robin,” Ilsa concluded. “She wouldn’t be so put out about it all if she didn’t have feelings for you too. You just have to be completely honest and hope she believes you.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“At the beginning, I guess.”

Strike sighed heavily, drained his cup of coffee, got to his feet and passed Ilsa some cash.

“That’s my share of the bill. I need to get my head together, can you make my excuses?”

“Sure, will you be okay?”

“I always am, aren’t I?” he replied forlornly, turning and disappearing down the fire escape and onto Victory Hill.


	33. The Truth Will Out - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran clears the air with Robin.

Ilsa sat on the terrace and texted Lucy to let her know the outcome of the conversation before heading back indoors to join the rest of the group, where she was greeted by an eye roll. Robin was still looking tired and Edie was visibly flagging.

“Where’s Cormoran?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“He’s gone for a walk I think, had a bit of a rough afternoon,” Ilsa replied.

Robin looked at her quizzically. Ilsa sighed, and figured she probably owed Strike one for having torn him off a strip earlier.

“Some kind of aggro with a photographer,” Ilsa muttered vaguely by way of explanation. She was desperate to tell Robin everything he had told her, but it wasn’t her place, so she rapidly changed the subject.

Robin sat quietly as the chatter around became more raucous, the familiarity of Lucy and Ilsa’s families becoming increasingly overwhelming despite everyone going out of their way to include her. She felt out on a limb, sat there by herself, and realised with some relief that if they didn’t make a move, she’d be carrying Edie home.

“I’m going to head back,” she announced, “It’s a bit of walk and this one isn’t going to manage it if we don’t leave soon.”

“We’ll see you back at the house,” smiled Lucy, in her element with her husband and all three boys, “Might be a while though.”

“You take your time, I'll probably head straight to bed with a book anyway.”

She kissed Ilsa and Nick goodbye and wrangled Alex and Edie to begin the ten-minute walk home.

* * *

Strike had gone down to the beach after leaving the Victory where he sat on the low wall, smoking and contemplating what to do next.

He wasn’t bothered about the wrath of Lucy and Ilsa, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Robin and had no idea how to fix the situation.

He wanted her to know the truth, but basically their relationship was one of boss/employee and friends. There was no reason for him to raise the subject of his relationship – or lack thereof – with Ciara, much less explain himself. He also didn’t want the issue of the photos to taint what he so desperately wanted to tell her.

After some time deliberating and numerous cigarettes, the sea breeze was getting cooler and he took himself off to the Rising Sun for a pint in the hope that he might find some inspiration there.

He was halfway down his second round, when he heard the sound of a child's voice nearby, moaning at volume. Strike rolled his eyes, mentally grumbling to himself that you couldn’t even have a drink these days without whiny kids disturbing your peace and quiet. It was only as the voice got nearer and he looked up in irritation and saw a flash of rose gold hair under a streetlamp that he realised it belonged to an exhausted Alex and a seriously harassed Robin.

“Alex, you’re more than capable of walking for another five minutes, now pack it in please,” he heard her telling him through gritted teeth as she tried to adjust both her large handbag and a sleeping Edie on her left shoulder.

“Robin!”

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, frowning. She’d registered the sound of her name but not whose voice was calling it and was cross and frustrated at having to pause in her efforts to get home.

“Let me give you a hand,” he was on his feet and crossing the road instantly.

“I’m fine, you’ve got your pint to finish.”

“It’s not a great pint, to be honest," he lied. "Here, let me take her.”

Robin hesitated for a moment, then gratefully passed Edie into Strike’s arms, where she settled immediately, clutching his collar in her chubby fingers as her head rested in the curve of his shoulder. Robin quickly looked away, fighting the tsunami of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her, then crouched down on the pavement, addressing Alex.

“Right you – piggyback, climb on.”

Alex grinned and did as he was told, whilst Strike watched the scene.

“So…muscle memory from all those gymkhanas?” he quipped, remembering her joking offer to carry him to his hotel room on Barrow so many years previously.

Robin couldn’t help but laugh.

“Maybe,” she smiled back at him, enjoying the momentary disappearance of the tension between them, as the four of them began the walk home, side by side.

* * *

Having put the children to bed, Robin made her way to the kitchen, planning to take a cup of tea back to her room and read for the remainder of the evening. Lucy and her family were still enjoying their reunion at the Victory and she couldn’t face making small talk with Strike, even thought the walk home had been less fraught that she would have expected.

The door to the garden was open and the kitchen lights just about illuminated the figure of Strike who was walking around the tent Jack had pitched earlier, checking the pegs and guy ropes. There was space for a camp bed to be squeezed into the room his brothers were sharing, but he liked camping and preferred to have a space of his own to retire to. Robin sighed and put her head out of the door.

“Tea?”

Strike paused and looked up, the amber glow of his cigarette visible in the dim light.

“Thanks, I’ll just be a minute.”

Robin made the drinks and placed a steaming mug in front of Strike as he lowered himself into one of the dining chairs, wincing. Between the castle visit and the meandering walk home carrying Edie, then the uneven surface of the garden, his leg was very much making it’s presence felt.

“You okay?” Robin asked, tentatively.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, “Just need to get this prosthesis off and rest it.”

“Right. I’m going up…goodnight.”

“’Night…Robin, wait.”

She turned in the doorway, mug in hand.

“Can you…look, I need to tell you something, come and sit down, please.”

Robin returned to the dining table and perched on a seat, looking as though she was ready to take off at any moment. Strike longed for yet another cigarette but settled for fiddling with a leftover strip of paper from where Lucy had been mounting photos of Ted and Joan earlier that afternoon.

“I know you've all seen the photos of me and Ciara Porter that are all over the internet…it’s really not what it looks like.”

Robin eyed him warily. Why was he telling her this? Yes, she’d been rattled by seeing them, but he didn’t know that, and the bottom line was it was none of her business.

“Okay.”

“The truth is, I’ve not been in a relationship for a very, very long time. The last one ended in 2012, and since then I’ve avoided getting involved with anyone. I hurt Lorelei, not intentionally, but I let things go on for longer than I should have, when I knew I wasn’t in it for the right reasons. I didn’t like myself very much after that and decided to just focus on the business.”

Robin nodded, trying not to show her surprise. She knew that Strike, despite the many things that on paper wouldn’t make him ideal boyfriend material, had no trouble attracting women, so why and how he’d managed to avoid relationships for eight years mystified her. He must have met plenty of attractive, intelligent women during that time.

Strike took a large gulp of tea and steeled himself. He knew there was no point doing this unless he was completely, brutally honest. He also knew that his arrangement with Ciara was probably something a lot of women would find unpalatable.

“So, Ciara…we met up a while after that relationship finished, and we were both single, but neither of us wanted to get involved so…”

“You became ‘friends with benefits’?”

Strike flushed, deeply uncomfortable, and nodded.

“For what? Seven, eight years?”

“Yep. I know it probably sounds really strange, but it worked. We’ve had some lengthy breaks in that time when she’s been in other relationships…”

“But you’ve not been with anyone else?”

“No…but not in that way,” he added hurriedly, keen to not give the impression that his lack of other partner was due to any kind of romantic feelings towards Ciara, “Simply because I didn’t want to get into anything permanent or complicated.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, last night. She came to see me because the last few times she’s been in touch, I told her I was too busy with work to see her, and she...er...thought I might need ‘distracting’…” he just about dared to glance at Robin to see her expression.

The words ‘did you?’ were echoing in her head and she took another swig of tea in an attempt to stop them escaping.

“I didn’t,” he flushed again, remembering momentarily that it was more a case of couldn’t, but quickly tucking that recollection away. “I had to tell her that I’d been using work as an excuse. That I didn’t want to continue the arrangement we’ve had.”

Robin took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure it was appropriate to ask, but she couldn’t not. She had to know.

“Is that because you’ve met someone else?”

Strike glanced up at Robin sitting opposite him, watching him with those clear blue-grey eyes. Her hair had grown longer recently and appeared to pour like honey over her slightly sun burnt and freckled shoulders. Her cheeks were still pink from the walk home and her long slender fingers curled around her mug. His heart ached. It would be so easy to tell her now how he felt, how he'd felt all this time. But his feelings for Robin were so much stronger than that. Too big to become a mere footnote in a conversation about another woman.

“Let’s just say I’ve had a wake-up call recently," he said, carefully. "I’ve realised that I want more. I want something real and I’m ready to accept all the challenges and complications that come with that.”

“And how did Ciara take it?”

“She’s fine. Quite happy to be friends without the benefits,” he smiled.

“Well, I’m glad you sorted things out,” answered Robin, draining the last of her tea and going to the sink to rinse her mug. “Although you really didn’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“Maybe not,” he said, joining her at the sink, “But I wanted to. Those pictures looked…grubby, and the truth is Robin, I care what you think…of me.”

The scent of tea and cigarette smoke was overwhelming her senses again as she turned to look at him, weakening her knees and sending thunderbolts of lust to other, long neglected parts of her anatomy. It took a not inconsiderable effort to keep her gaze on his green eyes rather than the tuft of dark chest hair visible at the open neck of his midnight blue shirt.

“I think, Cormoran Strike, that you are quite an enigma…”

There was the sound of a key in the door.

“We’re back…”

“Shhhh…you’ll wake the little ones. Where are you Stick?”

Strike sighed. “Kitchen.”

Robin smiled at him, the same smile he'd seen in the kitchen that morning, and at her party two weeks previously, and he felt relief wash through his veins like a hit of nicotine.

“See you in the morning, Cormoran. Goodnight.”

He leaned back against the workshop and watched her go as the rest of his family poured into the kitchen.


	34. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of Ted and Joan's anniversary party. Robin is pleasantly surprised but also somewhat unnerved by how comfortable she feels surrounded by Strike's family and friends.  
> Strike finally seizes the moment.

Saturday morning began with a chaotic cooked breakfast for nine, which Lucy had insisted on, bearing in mind she had a busy day ahead and no desire to break her self-inflicted schedule to cope with the catering demands of her husband and sons.

“We're all perfectly capable of feeding ourselves, Mum,” reprimanded Jack, nonetheless gratefully accepting a plate of food the size of which rivalled that which his uncle was tucking into. Joe shuttled back and forth with teapot, cafetière, milk and juice, whilst Robin kept an eye on Edie and Alex and produced mounds of toast for everyone which seemed to disappear as fast as they came out of the toaster.

Robin was overwhelmed with a sense of contentment after her conversation with Strike the previous evening. Pleased that he’d confided in her and she now knew the truth about his relationship with Ciara, although still unwilling to question the reasons for her satisfaction. The happy, noisy family breakfast reminded her of Masham, Lucy’s boys of her three brothers who’d had similarly prodigious appetites in their teens.

The hotel was dealing with most of the arrangements for the party that evening, although Lucy had insisted on making table decorations and a huge display of photographs of Ted and Joan over the years which she needed to assemble at the venue. Strike had been tasked with collecting the cake from a bakery in Falmouth, Joe was in the shed putting the finishing touches to Ted and Joan’s anniversary gift, which was to be presented to them at a family lunch the following day.

Robin had offered to prep all the veg and anything else that could be done, and Ilsa was coming round to help hang the bunting and balloons, although she could currently be heard over the back fence having a heated debate with Brooke about her plans for the day.

“But mum, pleeeease, it’s the last chance I’ll get to go body boarding. We’ll be fine and we’ll get back in plenty of time.”

“We’ll look out for her, I promise, Ilsa,” said Jack earnestly, adding further weight to Brooke’s request to join the boys for a day at Fistral Beach.

“Come on, Ils,” coaxed Nick, ever the soft touch where his daughter was concerned. “They’re good kids and we won’t be back here again until August.”

A happy shriek from the neighbouring garden appeared to indicate Ilsa’s capitulation on the matter, and Robin laughed, simultaneously thanking her lucky stars she had a few years to go before that kind of debate was necessary with either of her own children.

The day passed in quiet industry until late afternoon when the house was full once more with a throng of people all trying to get ready for the evening’s celebrations.

Having showered at lightning speed, Robin helped Edie to dress whilst Alex put on his new shirt and trousers, brushing her daughter’s hair as she fidgeted incessantly and fixing the rainbow crystal studded headband into place.

“But my p’lice hat mummy, you said I could wear it!” she shouted indignantly.

“I said ‘we’ll see’. Now if you’re a good girl and keep this on for the start of the party, I’ll put your police hat in my bag for later, okay?”

Edie pouted, huffed but eventually acquiesced.

“Alex, take your sister downstairs please while I finish getting ready, and don’t get up to anything messy.”

Alex took his sister in one hand, and his new sticker book about castles in the other and headed off to the sitting room.

Robin sat at the small dressing table, applying her make up briskly, going a little heavier than usual with the taupe eyeshadow and adding an extra later of mascara before applying a deeper soft berry shade of lipstick rather than her usual pale pink gloss. She fixed crystal studs into her earlobes, and a matching stone on a fine gold chain around her neck before skilfully wielding her hair straighteners to produce soft, rippling waves. When she was satisfied with her appearance, she went over to the back of the bedroom door where the green dress was hanging in its storage bag.

She stood looking at it for several moments before the sound of the doorbell going and the Herberts and Ilsa’s parents arriving from next door for a quick drink before the taxis arrived to ferry them all to the hotel brought her back to reality.

 _It’s just a dress_ , she told herself.

She wrested it gently from the hanger, dropped it over her head and wiggled it properly into place, contorting her arms at all angles to manage the zip, and finally slipped her feet into the green shoes.

With a last look in the mirror, she took a deep breath, checked her bag, picked up the gift bag containing Ted and Joan’s card and present and headed downstairs.

The first Strike knew of Robin’s presence downstairs was the collective squeals her arrival elicited from Ilsa and Lucy. He tried to crane his neck to see out of the sitting room door, but was unsuccessful, and trying to think how he could extricate himself when she appeared in the doorway.

Strike could hardly believe his eyes when he saw her, a vision in poison green from head to toe, smiling from ear to ear at the scene in the sitting room. Strike had Edie on his lap and had obviously been reading ‘A Dog So Small’ again. On seeing her mother, Edie immediately bounced across the room.

“Mummy, Corm’r’n fixed my hat,” she beamed, pointing to the police hat that she was now wearing with the sparkly head band fitted around on top of the check ribbon. Strike attempted to give Robin an apologetic shrug, but discovered he was completely devoid of cognitive functioning.

Sensing his discombobulation, Robin paused in the doorway, hand on hip and grinned.

“What do you think?”

“You’ve still got the dress?”

“Yeah.”

“You look…wow.”

“Thanks,” she turned to Alex, “Go and get your shoes on sweetheart, we’ll be off in a minute.”

* * *

The hotel was every bit as beautiful as Robin remembered from the television programme she’d seen. They were shown to a beautiful upstairs room with its own bar, decorated in shades of cream, pale grey and silver. There was a temporary dance floor in the centre and small tables dotted around the edges, each bearing one of Lucy’s centrepieces and a small cluster of battery operated tealights. In the corner of the room was a large display of carefully curated photos of Ted and Joan from their teens until the present day, many from the seventies and eighties featuring a slightly chubby, smiling Lucy and a frequently gap-toothed Strike.

Double doors led out onto a terrace overlooking the sea, where a long table was set for dinner which they ate to a backdrop of music from 1969 and 1970, when Ted and Joan had been courting and subsequently gotten married.

Once the meal of fish and chips followed by chocolate cake and ice cream had been consumed, the guests began to wander back inside, lured by the bar, the music and the opportunity to reminisce over old photos.

Sitting with Ilsa and Lucy later in the evening, Robin watched Alex and Edie playing with Logan, whilst Brooke ping-ponged between supervising them and chatting to Lucy’s sons. Joe and Nick were propping up the bar whilst Strike was clearly in his element catching up with his much-loved Uncle Ted.

Suddenly, Robin felt a little overwhelmed. She’d worried when she’d found out about the evening that she would feel like an outsider, but if anything, she felt completely the opposite, totally at home with Strike’s friends and family. It made her miss her own, even though she’d only seen them the previous week, but more than anything it scared her how right it felt.

Getting to her feet, she made her excuses about wanting to make the most of the ocean view before returning to London, picked up her wine glass and headed back to the now empty terrace, unaware of Strike watching her from across the room.

* * *

“Ilsa said I’d find you out here.”

Strike’s voice was slightly hoarse behind her, and Robin turned around to see him approaching, his tread slightly more careful on the decking now that several drinks had been consumed.

“Were you looking for me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Strike smiled softly and Robin shivered, a reaction not entirely down to the sea breeze that was setting the pelargoniums rustling behind them. Strike slipped his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders, letting his arm linger there a moment or two longer than could be considered purely helpful.

“All these years and you still can’t remember to bring a cardy,” he teased with quirk of his eyebrows.

Robin shook her head. “Seriously, how do you remember all this stuff?”

“Because it’s you,” he replied simply, his voice becoming softer. “It’s always been you, Robin.”

Strike’s took her hand in his, tugging her over to the long table they’d eaten at earlier where they could sit.

“I know the timing and the circumstances are all wrong, but I have to get this out. Robin…I love you. I have done for years. I tried to tell you back when we worked together, after you and Matthew broke up but…”

“What?!”

Strike looked at her sheepishly.

“The red roses that ended up in the office bin…”

Robin’s hand flew to her mouth in shock.

“And then, the night after you came to the office with the money your mum had given you, I came around to your flat in the morning…”

“To check my locks?”

“To tell you how I felt. To tell you that you had a choice, and if you didn’t want to go back to Matthew I’d be there in whatever way you needed me to be…and then you spun around with that bloody great kitchen knife in your hand but all I could see was your engagement ring back on your finger.”

“You sacked me.”

“Because you’d been a bloody fool,” he paused, gathering his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. “But also because I was angry and scared. Scared that I was going to lose you to another assailant, to Matthew and your new life – we both knew way before then that he hated you working for me. It was easier to push you away, at least that way I could control the pain…don’t, please don’t cry Robin.”

He held onto her hand with one of his while he reached across the table for a napkin and passed it over. She dabbed at her face, mindful of the fact that they could be interrupted at any moment, and tried not to disrupt her make up any more than necessary.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I feel like over the last few months we’ve rediscovered what we used to be to one another and now that you’re free of Matthew, I hope we might be able to find out what else we can be to one another…not straight away necessarily, I know the ink isn’t dry on the divorce papers yet and you have Alex and Edie to think about…”

“You’ve never wanted children of your own, why would you…”

“They’re part of you Robin. Alex with his focus when he’s trying to get his head around something, Edie…all spirit and stubbornness…” he grinned affectionately.

“Cormoran, it’s all not all playing in castles and cuddles and books on the sofa. It’s twenty-four/seven, taxi service, teacher, nurse, chef, entertainment coordinator. It’s book bags and packed lunches and emergency dashes to the school medical room. It’s nits and wet beds and projectile vomiting at three in the morning…”

“Sounds like a standard night out in the army,” he retorted with a snort of laughter, before his features became more serious. “Robin, I’ve loved you for the last nine years and I wouldn’t be telling you how I feel about you if I wasn’t one hundred percent certain that I wanted to make a life with you…all three of you. I messed up trying to tell you last time and I couldn’t bear the thought of missing my chance again.”

He watched her watching him, her expression softer but doubt still clearly visible in her eyes.

“I know it won’t always be easy – for any of is. I know I won’t get everything right, but I promise I will do my best, always. It doesn’t have to be now, I realise it’s probably way too soon. But just know that I love you, and I’ll wait for as long as you need me to…” his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Please Robin, when you’re ready…just let me try.”  
Nick’s head appeared around the door.

“There you two are…Ted and Joan are going to cut their cake…c’mon.”

Strike turned to look at Robin.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

Strike got to his feet and held out his hand to her. Dropping her crumpled tissue on the table, she took it and together they headed back inside.

Ted and Joan’s anniversary cake had been carefully sculpted and decorated in the shape of the little fishing boat they’d owned for much of their married life. Her name ‘Martha’, after their favourite Motown singer was iced on the side and sitting on the deck were two tiny edible figures that resembled the couple.

They cut the cake together, laughing, before taking to the dancefloor for a somewhat shuffling rendition of the first dance from their wedding, “The Wonder of You.” As it segued into ‘The Best of Me (Is You)” by Ed Sheeran and Yebba, Strike noticed Robin looking shyly at him.

“Dance with me?” she asked, eyes sparkling beneath the festoons of fairy lights that bedecked the room.

It was mostly the younger guests on the dance floor with them - Lucy and Joe, Nick and Ilsa and a handful of friends of Ted and Joan. The younger children were crashed out on a banquette, whilst the teenagers were sat around a table watching their respective parents with a combination of affection and embarrassment. Robin noticed Brooke casting a lingering but apparently unnoticed look in Jack’s direction and thanked her lucky stars she was no longer thirteen, even if she did feel like it just then, listening to the lyrics of the song as they rotated on the dance floor.

_But she loves me, she loves me_   
_Why the hell she love me_   
_When she could have anyone else?_

Strike couldn’t help pulling Robin slightly closer as the lyrics resonated in his brain. She could have anyone else…what right did he have to someone this special? And yet, as they swayed slowly together, neither speaking nor making eye contact, he felt as though he’d always been meant to hold her this way, as if her hand resting in his was a promise of the future they might have together.

_…he loves me, he loves me_   
_And I bet he never lets me go_   
_And shows me how to love myself…_

Robin tried unsuccessfully to fight back tears as the second chorus filled the room, not happy or sad ones but tears of mixed emotions. Grief at the fact her marriage to Matthew had never made her feel that way, at all the wasted years trying to be someone she wasn’t when she could have been her true self and with a man who valued her for that alone. Happiness that maybe she would be lucky enough to get a second chance, and confusion at the timing which was all kinds of wrong but still…

Her fingers unconsciously tightened on the back of Strike’s neck and he looked down at her, their eyes meeting for the first time since they’d stepped onto the small dance floor. He dropped her hand momentarily and cradled her cheek, wiping away the escaped tear with the pad of his thumb, before picking it up again with a gentle squeeze, which was rewarded with a watery smile.

The lights went up and the music changed all too soon - they couldn’t round off Ted and Joan’s anniversary party with anything other than Martha Reeves and the Vandellas singing Dancing in the Street. Strike and Robin reluctantly parted before the shift in the dynamic between them became too obvious to onlookers, neither of them knowing exactly what the last half hour meant just yet, and soon they were caught up in a flurry of farewells as the evening drew to a close.


	35. Sleepless in St Mawes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Robin nor Strike can sleep after their heart-to-heart at Ted and Joan's anniversary party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest...this is barely proof read. It's taken me two days to write this and the following chapter due to constant RL interruptions and if I don't post it tonight I'll go insane, so enjoy...and please forgive me the no doubt numerous typos and (hopefully) minor cock ups!

Robin rolled over in bed and looked at the clock. It was almost 1am and the house had fallen silent some fifteen minutes earlier, but still she was unable to sleep. Even the distant sound of the ocean filtering through her open window wasn’t enough to lull her into unconsciousness.

Over and over she turned Strike’s words in her head. She believed every one of them and wanted so badly to just embrace the opportunity to finally be with him after all the wasted years, but she knew she needed to be as certain as he had told her he was. She had to consider how Alex and Edie would adjust to her being with someone else so soon after their father had moved out, not to mention Matthew’s no doubt self-righteous anger, the inevitable overbearing concern from her mother, and the glances and whispering in the school playground when the relationship became public knowledge.

Then there was their working relationship to consider. There would have to be boundaries. Being with Strike, however much she might want it, would not be easy, and she’d already faced enough difficulties over the years to last a lifetime.

She sighed heavily, stretched and rolled over onto her stomach, silently praying that her hyperactive brain would settle down and allow her to sleep ahead of the long drive home the following day.

* * *

Several feet below Robin, Strike was equally restless.

He’d said his piece, she seemed to have been receptive, now all he could do was wait. He’d promised any further developments were entirely up to her and he had no intention of reneging.

He longed for a cigarette but couldn’t face the faff of putting his prosthesis on, nor did he fancy sitting on the front step smoking, which was the best option to avoid disturbing Jack in his tent in the back garden. Instead he put the lamp on, picked up his phone and began scrolling aimlessly through news sites before eventually remembering a word game he’d installed which he hoped would provide the distraction he craved.

He was on his third round when he heard an unexpected noise and his body stiffened. A moment later it came again, a faint tap on his door.

“Hello?” he spoke softly. It couldn’t be, could it? He felt his body begin to respond immediately at the thought it might be Robin and mentally reprimanded himself for his lack of control.

“It’s me, Robin…can I come in?”

_Shit!_

“Sure,” he rasped, his body awash with nerves, which were instantly forgotten the moment she stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

She was wearing what he assumed was the new sleepwear he’s heard her telling Lucy about. A robe that fell to just above her knee secured with a tie belt over shorts and a camisole, all three made of silky fabric in the palest shade of green and pattered with watercolour style flowers.

He wondered briefly if she’d worn them for his benefit, before pushing the thought hastily from his mind before he lost control of himself again. She was here, in his room, in the middle of the night. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off.

Robin herself had paused a couple of steps into the room, trying hard to keep her eyes on Strike’s face rather than expanse of thickly haired chest on display. He was covered from the waist down by a lightweight summer duvet and Robin felt a flush rise in her cheeks as she speculated whether he might be naked beneath it.

“What can I do for you Robin?” he said softly, sending a sharp bolt of lust through her.

“I…erm…can I…?” she motioned to the bed, before moving to sit on the edge next to him without waiting for a reply.

Strike, in his typical manner, simply placed his phone face down on the bedside cabinet and waited silently for her to gather herself. Eventually she turned to look at him.

“What you said earlier, about waiting until I was ready…did you really mean that?”

“Every word,” he replied, resting his hand lightly over hers on the duvet between them, “For as long as it takes.”

She nodded slowly, bit her lip. He could hear her breathing in the stillness, shaky and infinitesimally more rapid than usual.

“And, what if I don’t want to wait?” Her eyes were boring into his own, her blue-grey irises dilated in the dim light, although he couldn’t help hoping that wasn’t the only reason. She looked slightly nervous, but a faint smile played around her lips. Strike felt an eruption of butterflies in his stomach.

“Really?”

“Really.”

His fingers closed around her hand and he brought it to his lips, pressing them against her soft skin, making her giggle slightly at the ticklishness of his stubble. He began to relinquish her hand, but at her response thought better of it and gave it a gentle tug, pulling her towards him, his other hand caressing her hair, sliding round to cradle the back of her head as their lips met.

It was, Robin would reflect afterwards, the most perfect kiss of her life. His mouth moved gently over hers, his fingertips stroking through her hair to stroke the nape of her neck. As she sighed against his lips, she felt the gentle touch of his tongue, parting them, sliding into her mouth and entwining with her own. She met his explorations eagerly, her hands roaming to rest, one on his right forearm, the other on his duvet covered left thigh – she didn’t dare allow it to stray to his bare chest or stomach, although the temptation was almost unbearable.

It was a few minutes before they pulled apart, breathless and smiling.

Strike looked at her, unusually self-conscious as he spoke, aware that his arousal was not entirely concealed by the thin, summer weight duvet and that Robin must have noticed.

“Will you stay for bit? No pressure. I just want to be with you for a while longer.”

“Me too,” she smiled, getting to her feet, untying the belt on the robe and hanging it over the back of a nearby chair. The camisole pyjama top was lightly gathered around the bust and trimmed with a slim panel of sheer fabric. Its shoestring straps crossed over Robin’s slightly sunburnt back, and the matching shorts were, well, short and featured the same sheer trim. Strike couldn’t take his eyes off her as she made her way back to his bed and climbed in alongside him. He shuffled over somewhat awkwardly thanks to a combination of his amputated leg and priapic state, which he was keen to conceal from Robin if at all possible. There was plenty of time for that, once she decided that was what she wanted.

He held out his right arm and she tucked herself under it happily, head on his shoulder. Finally, she allowed her hand to rest on his torso, her toes curling at the delicious feel of warm skin and surprisingly soft, dark hair. Strike dropped a kiss on top of her head, and, eyes closed, breathed in her familiar scent of roses and vanilla. To his surprise Robin responded immediately and instinctively, pressing her lips to the patch of skin a couple of inches below his collarbone.

She heard his small intake of breath and did it again, only this time her fingers were drifting up his chest to rest over his heart and he could feel her smiling against him. He captured her hand with his and looked down at her.

“C’mere Ellacott,” he whispered huskily, “…and let me kiss you again.”

Robin didn’t need asking twice. She wriggled up the bed to meet his waiting mouth and they kissed and kissed, his arm around her waist and the other hand in her hair, the slightly awkward angle forgotten until Robin slid her hand down to his waist to pull him closer and he pulled away. She looked at him, confused.

“Robin, this is wonderful, being here with you, like this, but…”

Strike, with his long-standing reputation in the bedroom department, could not for the life of him think of a way to explain his predicament without potentially causing embarrassment or offence.

“But what?” Robin’s lips quirked.

He sighed, blushing and she grinned, suddenly overcome with streak of mischievousness.

“Cormoran Strike, am I making you horny?” she teased, fighting the urge to giggle.

Relief washed over him as he realised she was clearly completely comfortable with the situation.

“You have no fucking idea,” he rasped.

“Then show me,” she challenged, pulling him closer once again.

This time, he didn’t resist, responding in kind and pulling her body flush against him. Teeth grazed lips and their tongues rediscovered one another again, stroking and exploring as they both revelled in the proximity of the other’s body. Strike’s hands roamed over Robin’s soft skin and silky pyjamas, his thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts as she hitched her leg over Strike’s, pulling him even closer, his arousal now unmistakeable against her belly.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Strike’s words became a moan as Robin’s curious fingertips found their way beneath the hem of his boxers, nails scratching lightly at his skin.

“I’m sure,” she whispered, her breath hot in his ear, her tongue even hotter as it traced the lobe, followed by gently nibbling teeth. “I trust you and I know that if I want you to stop, you’ll stop.”

She pulled back then and looked him directly in the eye.

“But I really don’t want you to stop.”

“ _Fuck_ …” he breathed, “God almighty Robin, I want you so much.”

“Then maybe a little less conversation is in order,” she replied, adding with a cheeky smile, “…although if you want to keep telling me things like that…”

Strike’s head was spinning with lust. When he’d imagined this scenario, which despite his best efforts had not been an infrequent occurrence over recent weeks in particular, he had not once anticipated Robin being as relaxed and confident as she currently appeared. As if having her there in his bed, being allowed to touch and caress her with hands and lips and tongue wasn’t enough of a turn on, her reciprocal enthusiasm was utterly intoxicating.

“It’s a deal,” he whispered, enjoying the sensation of her briefly squirming beneath him as he turned his attention to her neck, nibbling and sucking his way slowly from behind her ear down to her collar bone, “But you’ll need to tell me what you want from me too.”

“You can definitely keep doing that,” she managed to articulate as he traced the edges of the camisole top. He caught the hem in his fingers and peeled it up and over her head, his pupils dilating impossibly further as his gaze travelled over the rise and fall of Robin’s breasts, her small, perfect, dusky pink nipples already hardening even before he’d touched her.

She watched him drinking her in, her breath rapid, her body aching for his touch. He traced delicate patterns over her torso, teasing her with his proximity but never actually reaching the place where she yearned to feel his fingertips. He dropped his head to her stomach, covering the gently rounded flesh with warm, wet kisses as his hands travelled upwards. Her sensual groan as he cupped her breasts in his large hands echoed his own at the sensation of her nipples, pressing pebble-like into his palms.

“Cormoran…” his name came out as a sigh of pleasure.

“Any further instructions Ellacott?” he enquired, glancing up at her, head thrown back against his pillows.

She whimpered slightly as he circled her areola delicately, every brush against the sensitive nerve endings sending a shock of arousal to her core.

“More,” she whispered hoarsely, “I need more…”

“More what?” his expression was the picture of faux innocence, although he knew exactly what she was asking for. “Do you want my mouth on you, Ellacott?”

“God _yes_ …”.

Strike lowered his head, his tongue swirling across the curve of each breast, circling each nipple with before covering one lightly with his mouth, his breath hot against the stiff peak.

“Please…” she murmured, her hips joining in her request, arching up against his solid erection and weakening any remaining resolve. He sucked gently on her, his tongue flickering over the very tip, then grazing with her teeth before moving to lavish the same attention on her other breast.

Strike’s concentration began to slip as he felt Robin’s fingertips slide beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers, pushing them down over his hips then trailing her small, sharp fingernails along the crease of his thigh. Sensing his distraction, Robin took advantage, pushing him onto his back and throwing a long leg over his hips to straddle him in one smooth movement. He lay there stunned, gazing up her with eyes that were almost black with desire and awe. Although she wasn’t quite touching him, he could feel the heat radiating from her cunt against his cock, the featherlight brush of the silky shorts tantalising against his skin.

“Gotcha!” she smirked, sliding her hands up to his shoulders and onto the pillows as she leaned forward to kiss him, long, slow and deep.

She supported herself tantalizingly just out of contact above him, her nipples barely grazing his chest as her tongue licked into his mouth. His hands gripped her hips, attempting to pull her against him, but she was strong, and she resisted the gentle pressure, determined to tease him for as long as she could manage. He felt her mouth curve into a smile against his chest as he groaned with frustration, his heart pounding beneath her soft lips.

“Behave,” she murmured, administering a short, sharp bite to his left nipple that made him swear fractionally louder than was wise in a house full of people, “Shhhh,” she laughed, soothing the tender flesh with strokes of her tongue and tiny kisses.

“You can’t expect me to be quiet if you’re going to be doing things like that,” he grumbled.

“Well, you’re just going to have to learn some self-control,” she replied, levering herself gracefully upright and pressing her core down against cock which twitched hard in response the feel of her, hot and slick through the thin fabric of her shorts. Caught off-guard her eyes briefly fluttered closed as a small whimper escaped her.

“Now who needs some self-control?” Strike retorted, nonetheless pressing his advantage, his hands on her hips holding her still as he ground his hips up against her. Sliding underneath the silky fabric until his thumb found her wetness and skimmed over her swollen clit, rendering her instantly breathless.

“Oh! Cormoran…”

“Good?”

“Mmmm.”

This wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but she didn’t have it in her to resist as he applied slightly more pressure, his movements tiny and precise, until she was rocking against him, head thrown back, distantly aware of the flush creeping over her pale skin. Suddenly he stopped and she looked down at him dazed and panting, before realising his fingers were in her waistband.

“Take these off…” he growled. She moved to follow his instructions, desperate for him to continue touching her, then a sudden, unwanted thought popped into her head and she stilled, laying beside him.

He sensed her hesitation immediately and rolled on to his side, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes full of concern as he looked down at her.

“Robin? Are you okay? I’m sorry. We don’t have to…”

“No, it’s not that. I want to, but…”

He waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t he pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly.

“It’s alright, take your time,” he whispered.

“Cormoran I’m not…” she sighed and forced herself to look up at him, “…I’m not exactly Ciara Porter. I’ve had two children…”

“I know.”

“I’ve got stretchmarks and a lumpy caesarean scar…they’re not pretty. I’ve used all the creams and oils and God knows what over the years, Matthew even bought me some really ridiculously expensive stuff after Edie and the c-section, but nothing completely gets rid of them…”  
  
Strike could hear the wobble in her voice and felt his heart break for her just a little, although it was nothing compared to the anger he felt towards Matthew – again – for making her feel that way.

“Robin, sweetheart, in case you haven’t noticed I’ve got plenty of scars all over the place from my years boxing and in the army…and there’s this bloody massive one on my right leg…”

“Idiot!” She laughed, “That’s just you.”

“And your scars are just you, and I love you, so I will love them too…” his hand was on her waistband again, his eyes dark, “Let me show you?”

He felt her relax into his arms as she nodded her agreement and canted her hips to allow him to slide the shorts off, rolling her onto her back and covering her body with his as he claimed her mouth again. His kisses were sweet, gentle and tender as his hand moved lower to resume its ministrations, his fingertips lightly caressing her stomach before returning to her centre, sliding and circling. Her legs parted slightly, allowing him better access and he toyed gently with her opening, wanting to give her the opportunity to object if she was in any way unsure or uncomfortable. Instead she bucked her hips towards him with murmured ‘please…’ and he slid his finger slowly inside her, trailing kisses down her neck to her breast as he began to stroke and explore, his thumb ghosting across her clit.  
  
Robin had forgotten all her worries about scars and stretchmarks even before Strike’s mouth began its path down her body, lavishing gentle kisses on the areas she was most self-conscious about before moving lower still. The feel of his mouth, hot on her inner thigh made her look down briefly just at the moment Strike replaced his thumb on her clit with his tongue.

She arched on the bed as though a thousand volts had just shot through her.

“ _Fuck! Cormoran_ …” she gasped.

“Hmmmm?” he hummed against her, purely for effect, knowing she would not be answering. He added a second finger to the one already sliding inside her, his tongue continuing its methodical onslaught as she writhed beneath him. He opened one eye, not faltering for a second, and watched Robin reacting to his touch, her fingertips clutching at the bottom sheet, head back, hair spilling across the pillow. She looked thoroughly debauched in the best possible way and it occurred to Strike that if he didn’t focus he was in danger of coming at the same time as Robin without her even touching him.

Closing his eyes, he returned his concentration to her cunt, changing the angle of his fingers with each movement, curving and exploring until another breathless expletive from the other end of the bed told him he’d found what he was looking for. He grinned with satisfaction and with a final flick of his tongue he sucked her clit gently into his mouth.

The sensation of his lips pulsing against her most sensitive spot made Robin cry out and she turned her head into the pillow in attempt to muffle any further outburst as she felt her orgasm building in the pit of her stomach, delicious tendrils of sensation creeping across her thighs. Strike responded instinctively, pumping his fingers faster and deeper inside her, whilst using his other hand to part her lips, giving him even better access to her clit, telling her in between long, slow strokes of his tongue how delicious she tasted.

As she drew closer and closer, her felt her fingers in his hair, her hips rocking into his mouth. He drew back, panting and licked his lips.

“Tell me what you want Robin,” he purred, “What do you need me to do to make you cum?”

His fingers, slower now, were still sliding rhythmically inside her, and she struggled to catch her breath, her toes curling as she fought a battle between embarrassment and the burning desire to tell him in no uncertain terms exactly what she wanted. As if sensing her timidity, he lowered his head to her again, administering short, fast flicks of his tongue.

“This?”

She shook her head.

“How about this?”

Despite his aching cock, Strike was thoroughly enjoying himself as he traced long slow patterns with his tongue across her core, the sound of Robin’s increasingly desperate sobs of pleasure music to his ears.

“No…but that’s…oh God, Cormoran… _please_ …”

“Please what?” he teased, merciless, fingers speeding up again.

“Please…I need…”

Strike, who had his suspicions about what she wanted, dragged his stubbled chin lightly over her tender flesh.

“I’d love to suck your clit again, would that work for you?”

“ _Fuck yes…_ ”

He lowered his head and took it his mouth once more, barely establishing a rhythm before both her hand was on his head again, holding his mouth against her as her hips thrusted against the relentless pistoning of his fingers.

It was the work of little more than a minute to bring her to completion, and he let out a muffled grunt as the sound of his name on her lips and the squeeze of her cunt around his fingers very nearly became his own undoing.


	36. Morning Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of sleep in this chapter...

Strike wiped his mouth on his arm and crawled up the bed, where he settled, his head resting on the soft cushion of Robin’s breast, listening to the sound of her heartbeat as it slowed from thunderous back to a steadier rhythm.

Robin lay speechless and limbless in the wake of her orgasm, waves of euphoria still lapping at her brain and body several minutes later. Sex with Matthew had been, on the whole, adequate, both before and, eventually, after the events at university. There had even been times when their marriage was going through one of its increasingly fleeting good patches, when it had been better than adequate, although Robin didn’t like to think about those times now that they were accompanied by wondering where he might had learnt the improvements to his technique.

What struck her, having only just had one sexual encounter with Strike was that whereas Matthew always seemed to have the goal in sight, Strike’s approach was all about the love of the game.

Absent-mindedly, she kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of horse-chestnut shower gel and cigar smoke that clung to his dark curls, and felt his arm tighten around her waist in response.

“You okay?” he mumbled against her skin, kissing his way back to her mouth where for several seconds he gave her no opportunity to respond. Eventually she pulled away smiling.

“More than okay…that was…” she blushed furiously, “…incredible.”

Strike’s grin was undeniably smug, but then his features softened as he bent to kiss her again on her forehead, the tip of her nose, her mouth, his lips clinging softly to hers, drawing out the gesture.

“You do know, don’t you,” he whispered, “That I have every intention of spending the rest of my life making you feel at least that good as often as you’ll let me.”

“Spoken like a true romantic,” she chuckled, suddenly becoming aware that whilst his arousal was considerably less for the short break in proceedings it was still very much in evidence. She pushed him back on the pillows, gently biting along his collarbone as she tweaked his left nipple between her fingertips. A quick glance south confirmed that her touch was having the desired effect.

“But for now, it’s your turn,” she grinned wickedly at him as her hand moved lower, her fingers soft and cool as they encircled his not insubstantial girth. She stroked him tentatively, teasingly, exploring every ridge and vein, cupping and caressing his balls as her mouth worked across his chest, enjoying the noises of pure pleasure she was eliciting.

Strike opened his eyes just in time to see Robin’s head moving lower and forced his brain to override what his body so desperately wanted.

“Robin…stop…stop a minute.”

She paused and looked up at him, her kiss-swollen lips now just inches from the head of his cock.

“You really don’t have to…erm…reciprocate…” he stumbled out, “I mean if it’s not your thing…I wouldn’t want you to think…”

Robin sat back on her legs and looked at him for a moment, and he could tell he’d said the wrong thing.

_Bollocks._

“Cormoran, last night you told me how you felt, how you wanted things to be between us and how you were happy to wait for me decided, and I trusted you.”

He nodded, his mouth dry.

“So please do me the courtesy of trusting me when I say that anything I do with, for, or to you, in bed or out of it, I will only ever be doing because I want to, okay?”

He breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Of course, if you’re not keen on blow jobs, we can always…”

The expression on his face said it all and he could see her smirking at having put him on the spot.

Her hands were warm on his firmly muscled thighs, stroking upward in broad sweeps before scratching gently down with her neat, sharp fingernails, making him gasp.

“You like that do you?” she murmured, changing her position slightly and repeating the action, this time applying enough pressure to draw a hoarse groan from his lips. One hand slid back up his thigh and grasped his cock, apply firm, slow strokes. Strike closed his eyes and let his head drop back on the pillow, mentally reminding himself before things went any further, that there were another six people in the house. He didn’t entirely trust his own volume control given the circumstances.

“How about this?” His hips twitched involuntarily as he felt her breath on him. Relishing the sense of power coursing through her veins, Robin extended her tongue and licked away the pearl of pre-cum, swirling it around his head before taking it into her mouth. She found a steady tempo, her head bobbing gently in perfect synchronisation with her hand. He moaned in frustration when she briefly stopped but was rewarded with a simple change of technique as she licked up and down his shaft, her tongue occasionally delving lower to flicker over his rapidly tightening balls.

Robin marvelled at how much going down on Strike was turning her on. It wasn’t something she had ever particularly disliked in general but listening to his reactions to her touching him was ramping up her own arousal again even though she’d not long climaxed. Every groan, every growled expletive spurred her on to experiment with her actions, and she switched between using her hands, lips, tongue and even her breasts to drive him closer to the brink, responding to his encouraging noises with her own hums and whimpers of satisfaction.

“Robin…” he panted, “I’m…not…oh, god… _fuck_ …don’t stop…”

He was in her mouth again, the sensation of hot, wet pressure almost unbearably good as her hands worked skilfully to complement her lips and tongue. Almost against his better judgment, he opened his eyes to watch her.

“ _Jesus Christ_ …Robin…I’m going to cum…” he articulated through tightly gritted teeth, the better to prevent him vocalising his pleasure too loudly. Somewhere in the back of his thoroughly addled brain he considered that it was only polite to warn her in advance.

Robin paused for a split second, locked her eyes with his and slid her lips slowly down his length, taking him in as deeply as she could. She reached for his hand, fingers tangling with his in a gesture of reassurance as spasms of intense pleasure racked his body, and he pulsed his release into her mouth.

He was still seeing stars when she nestled her head onto the pillow next to his and dropped a kiss on his bare shoulder. Strike wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, regaining his breath before rolling onto his side to face her. Robin slid her arm around his waist as he stroked her hair back off her face and kissed her tenderly but passionately, licking into her mouth and slowly exploring with his tongue, which she met eagerly. Eventually they pulled apart, his fingers still entwined with her hair.

“What the hell did I do to deserve you Ellacott,” he wondered aloud.

She smiled back at him. “Nothing,” she replied. “You were just you, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s all you ever need to be.”

“I love you Robin.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

The sunlight was just beginning to filter through Strike’s teal curtains when Robin awoke a few hours later. It took her a few seconds to realise with a smile of satisfaction where she was, and precisely half a second to sit bolt upright with a muttered “Oh shit!”

Strike opened one eye and looked at her blearily, then beamed from ear to ear.

“Wassamatter?”

“Kids,” she whispered urgently, “I can’t have them waking up, coming into my room and finding me missing.”

“No,” he groaned and stretched, rolling over to pick his mobile up from the bedside cabinet. “You’re okay, it’s not quite half four…stupidly early sunrise here in the summer.”

She sighed with relief. Both Alex and Edie were reasonably decent sleepers, but still she knew anything after 6am was fair game.

“I’d still best get back,” she murmured reluctantly, looking at Strike’s prone figure over her shoulder. He was reclining against the pillows, his left arm crooked behind his head, looking sleep rumpled and ludicrously sexy. She could feel his right arm around her, his hand warm on her hip, fingers tracing lazy circles against her bare skin.

“Surely the kids won’t be waking up just yet?”

"Not quite yet, but y'know, sod's law and all that."

"So, there's still time?" His hand snaked upwards, cupping her breast, teasing her nipple into a silky peak beneath his fingertips. A smug smile crept across  
Strike’s face as her eyes fluttered closed and small sigh escaped her lips. With a gentle tug he pulled her back down to him.

“You’re a terrible influence Cormoran Strike,” she reprimanded him, even though her hand was already on his arse, pulling him closer so she could feel his very early morning erection.

He kissed her, hungry but tender, his hands roving over every curve. She felt him growing even harder against her stomach and reached down to stroke his length, aware that she was already soaking wet.

“God I want you Cormoran,” she whispered, her lips on his neck, tracking their way up the bare skin where his beard ended to the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

“Me too,” he shuddered as she swirled her tongue over his earlobe and gentle probed his ear, “Fuck it!”

Robin drew back, unsure whether the expletive was pleasure induced or not. Seeing the frustration on Strike’s face she assumed the latter.

“What?”

“I’ve not got any condoms,” he groaned. “I can’t believe I’ve only just remembered.”

“Well we were doing a rather good job of making other forms of entertainment earlier,” Robin grinned, then looked at him, hesitant. “Did you and Ciara use…”

“Always,” he interrupted her.

“Only, I’ve got a coil, so contraception isn’t really a problem but…” she flushed, aware of the small knot forming in her stomach. The last person she wanted to allude to at a moment like this was Charlotte. “But, I realise you might prefer not to without…”

He pulled her close and kissed her softly.

“What were we saying earlier about trust?”

“If you’re sure.”

With a wolfish smile, Strike flipped her onto her back, looking down at her with eyes so dilated there were almost black.

“Oh, I’m definitely sure,” he growled, rocking his hips into her so that his erection slid between her folds, stroking his hard length against her clit and taking her by surprise so that she moaned louder than was entirely sensible.

He silenced her with a searing kiss, then lowered his head to graze her nipples lightly with his teeth before sucking them languidly into his hot, wet mouth. Robin parted her thighs a little further, gripping Strike’s arse again and grinding against him.

Realising that his own need matched hers, he repositioned, notching the head of his cock at her entrance, and applying the tiniest amount of pressure. She opened her eyes to see him gazing down at her as if she was the most wonderous thing he’d ever seen.

“Please Cormoran,” she breathed, tilting her hips to encourage him to fill her, “ _Please…_ ”

He slid home with a single, achingly slow thrust and stilled, his breathing fast and unsteady as he savoured the sensation of tight, slick cunt surrounding him, knowing that this first time was going to take every ounce of self-control in his possession.

“You feel so good,” Robin told him, almost obliterating his resolve. “I know this sounds insane, but I almost don’t want you to move because…”

“…the sooner I move, the sooner it’ll be over?”

“Exactly.”

She pulled him down to kiss him deeply and after a long minute simply relishing the feel of one another, they began to rock slowly together, creating just the merest hint of friction in all the right places, forcing themselves to bite back sounds of pleasure for fear of waking anyone, which somehow only made the whole experience even more intense. Robin’s fingernails dug into the curve of Strike’s arse, pulling him deeper as he gradually increased his pace and depth.

“This is too good,” he could barely get the words out, dazed with lust, “Can we…switch?”

Together they rolled so Robin was straddling him.

“Are you after testing my gymkhana skills, Mr Strike?” she teased him, with a wicked glint in her eye.

His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened.

“Would you like me to?”

“Well we’re halfway there already, although I warn you now, if you shout tallyho when you cum, I’m never sleeping with you again!”

“Duly noted,” he replied, his hands gripping firmly on to her hips, dark eyes burning into her as he growled “Ride me, Ellacott.”

Robin moved slowly to begin with, relishing the swell of him buried deep within her, leaning forward and grinding against him to hit her own sweet spot. Pleasure building, she reached down to grab Strike’s hands, interlacing her fingers with his and using his strength for leverage, pushing herself upward until he was barely inside her, before dropping back onto his cock in one smooth movement. She repeated the action again and again, circling her hips as she rose and fell.

“Fucking hell, Robin…let me…” he wrested his fingers from hers and allowed his hands to wander up her thighs, stroking and teasing as they moved tantalisingly, inexorably closer to the place he knew would send her into orbit, needing to bring her to completion before he totally lost control. She leaned back, hips swaying languorously as he thumbed her clit, her rhythm faltering as his touch urged her onward until she shattered above him, whispering his name over and over again and sending him hurtling towards his own climax.

Robin leaned forward, her head on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her as the aftershocks rippled through both of them. Eventually she levered herself off and away and flopped, molten-limbed and thoroughly sated on the bed beside him.

“I really must go back,” she told him, still slightly breathless, “But I’m not sure I can manage the stairs.”

Strike chuckled. “Just imagine how good we’ll be with years of practice.”

Robin leaned up on her elbow and kissed him.

“We’ve already got nine years of catching up to do.”

“Well, I don't know about you but I can’t bloody wait!”


	37. Friends and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin tells Strike how she wants to proceed with their relationship. Jack has an important favour to ask of him uncle, and everyone gathers for a final family lunch before heading back to London.

When Robin awoke for the second time that morning, the Cornish sun was streaming through pink and white toile de jouy curtains into Lucy’s former bedroom, heating the room to the point of stuffiness even with the window open.

What had woken her, however, was not the heat but the thunderous sound of two small fists knocking at the door. She flipped her phone over and saw to her mortification that it was nearly ten o’clock.

“Come in,” she mumbled.

Edie pushed the door open and toddled in, hugely pleased with herself, bearing a plate of toast and marmalade. Behind her followed Alex, carefully carrying a mug of tea in both hands, his tongue poking through his lips with the effort of concentration on not spilling any.

“Breakfast in bed, Mummy!” announced Edie joyfully, placing the plate haphazardly on the duvet so one piece of toast promptly slid off on to the fabric, and clambering up next to her mother who was watching Alex with trepidation.

“Careful,” she warned him as he set the steaming mug on the bedside cabinet, “This is lovely, but you are naughty to be wandering around with hot drinks.”

He climbed up on the other side of the bed and snuggled up next to her for a hug. Edie had rescued the stray piece of toast, claimed it for her own and was munching happily.

“S’ok, we had a grown up to help…” he looked towards the door where Strike was standing in jeans and t-shirt. Robin had rarely seen him dressed so casually and her stomach flipped at both his appearance and the cosy intimacy of the situation.

“Guilty as charged. We thought we’d surprise you as you’re usually up so early,” he grinned. “Anyone would think you’d been awake half the night.” And with a cheeky wink, he left a blushing Robin to her breakfast and her children.  
  
As he reached the foot of the stairs, Strike could hear Lucy talking on her mobile in the sitting room.

“Well, no, I don’t know for certain, but it looks promising…yes, yes I saw that too….no, not after we got home, but he’s just helped Alex and Edie make her breakfast in bed.”

She snorted with laughter. “Yeah, I know right? Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you will. Okay see you at half twelve? Great, bye.”

She jumped as Strike wandered into the room, making it patently obvious she’d been caught gossiping.

“Ilsa I take it?” he asked with a knowing quirk of his eyebrows.

“Erm, yes.”

“Hmmm,” he nodded, his expression as inscrutable as he could manage given that he was walking on air that morning. “You’d best call her back and tell her the outcome of your plotting wasn’t promising after all…” he watched Lucy’s face drop momentarily before she composed her features and he continued with a grin, “It was a resounding success.”

“Stick!” Lucy leapt off the sofa and threw her arms around him. Upstairs, Robin heard her squeal of joy, smiled and rolled her eyes.  
Strike disentangled his sister after a brief hug, laughing.

“But keep it on the down low, okay? We’re fine with the grown ups knowing, but Robin wants to wait a bit longer to tell the kids, let them get used to me…and minimise the chance of anything being said to Matthew before the divorce is finalised.”

Robin had been very clear about her feelings regarding making their relationship public when they’d broached the subject before she’d left for her own bedroom in the early hours. Only their closest friends were to know for now, Lucy, Ilsa, Kathy and their families, and absolutely no-one at the office.

“Give me some time to prove myself first. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m there because I’m the boss’s girlfriend.”

“Partner,” he’d corrected her. ‘Girlfriend’ sounded far too frivolous to quantify what Robin meant to him. “No hot sex on the office desk then?” he’d teased.

“Only if we sneak back after hours,” she’d grinned, as she’d disappeared around the door and back upstairs.

* * *

Strike dragged his thoughts away from office sex and headed out into the garden for a smoke. Jack was in the process of dismantling his tent, his brothers and Joe having already headed to the beach for a swim.

“Want a hand?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine,” replied Jack, “It’ll only take me five minutes.”

“Good lad, not long now is it?”

“Eight weeks,” he confirmed, referring to his enrolment at Sandhurst. He had his A-level exams and his eighteenth birthday coming up first. He’d be one of their youngest recruits.  
“Don’t mention it in front of mum and Joan will you? Not today anyway.”

Strike pulled a face that confirmed to his nephew that he really wasn’t quite that daft.

“I thought she was dealing with it quite well, although I suppose she’s had this as a distraction.”

“Exactly. The only reason I’m letting her throw this ridiculous birthday party for me is to keep her mind off me joining up. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but I’d rather go camping for the weekend with a few mates somewhere with a nice pub nearby.”

“You’re doing a good thing, Jack. These milestones are important to mums. Even mine managed to pull together an eighteenth for me.”

He was transported back to the shabby, smoke-filled pub in Shoreditch. Leda, heavily pregnant, had spent the evening overcome with emotion and hormones, telling everyone how proud she was of her eldest baby boy. Ted and Joan had made polite but awkward conversation with all manner of weird and wonderful characters the likes of which they would never have met in St Mawes, whilst Lucy had tucked herself away with her best friend, drinking Pepsi and looking embarrassed. Dave Polworth had been rat-arsed within ninety minutes, thrown up in the beer garden and then carried on drinking. Shanker had shown up briefly, making a hasty disappearance before he got thrown out for smoking weed. Nick and Ilsa, having just been introduced, had spent the first half of the evening making doe-eyes at each other and the latter snogging in a dark corner. Whittaker had been a tit, as usual.

“Are you alright Uncle Cormoran?” Jack was looking at him with concern, and it occurred to Strike that even after all these years and him getting his comeuppance, the thought of Whittaker could still catch him off guard.

“Yeah, I’m fine mate, just reminiscing.”

Jack squinted at him, obviously still concerned.

“That’s not what I meant,” his uncle obviously hadn’t heard the first half of the question, “I said are you still having nightmares…about…you know…”

Strike frowned at him. “Not for a while, why?”

“I just…” Jack looked painfully awkward. As close as he and Strike were, they only talked so much about his final experience in the army. “I though I heard you last night, calling out in your sleep...it sounded like you were swearing so I thought…”

Strike cleared his throat and took a long drag on his cigarette.

“No, no nightmares or dreams even. Slept like a baby,” he bluffed, trying not to smile.

“Oh, good.” Jack resumed his work with his tent for a minute before looking up again.

“Uncle Corm, can you do me a favour?”

Strike made to get his to feet, but Jack waved him back.

“No, not now…when I’ve gone, to Sandhurst I mean, and afterwards. Will you look after mum? I know she’s got Joe and he’s great, but he doesn’t understand how it all works. If anything happens when I’m posted…she doesn’t cope well with not knowing what’s going on. You’re the only one that can help with that if…well, you know.”

Cormoran nodded, swallowing a lump that had risen unexpectedly in his throat. How had the little boy whose hospital bed he’d watched over, who’d run him ragged around the Imperial War Museum, who he’d helped to pitch his first tent and build his first campfire grown up to be such a sensible, intelligent and thoughtful young man? And how had it happened so bloody quickly?

“Course I will,” he stood up and gave his nephew a pat on the back, “Now why don’t you let me finish that, and you go and join your brothers at the beach. Won’t be back here for a while will you?”

“Good point, thanks.” Jack smiled gratefully at him and made his way indoors to get changed and grab a towel.

Strike went about neatly folding the tent back into its bag, unaware of the two women watching him fondly from the kitchen and bedroom windows.

* * *

By one o’clock the garden was full of people and laughter. The large kitchen table had been hefted into the garden to joint their own garden table and one borrowed from Ilsa’s parents next door.

There were seventeen of them in total and Lucy and Ilsa worked as a team to lay out huge dishes of roast beef, chicken and gammon, roast potatoes, stuffing, vegetables and sauces, whilst Robin whisked, poured and baked mounds of fluffy Yorkshire puddings.

Joe, Nick and Strike kept up a steady stream of drinks for the assembled guests and the teenagers chatted happily in the sunshine, mostly teasing Jack as Edie had taken a shine to him and insisted on sitting on his lap until lunch was ready. She was still wearing her now bejewelled police hat.

It was impossible to plate up for that number of people, so everyone came in and helped themselves before heading back out to the garden, talking, laughing, and in Ted and Joan’s case, reminiscing over memories inspired by Lucy’s playlist which was drifting out of a wireless speaker on the patio.

After their roast dinner, which was followed by a spectacular pavlova piled with sliced banana, raspberries, nectarine and kiwi fruit, and treacle tart with clotted cream ice cream, Joe asked Adam and Jack to give him a hand with Ted and Joan’s anniversary present.

Joe had been working on it for weeks and even Lucy hadn’t been allowed to see the end result, which was just as well as when she did she immediately burst into tears.

Using reclaimed timber from the local boat yard, Joe had built a garden love seat for Ted and Joan’s little balcony at the retirement complex. Two chairs were joined at an angle by a wedge-shaped table which was inset with marquetry depicting the couple’s old boat. Even her name was visible, spelled out in tiny fragments of mahogany veneer.

Everyone gathered round to look and admire Joe’s handiwork and congratulate Ted and Joan again before setting off back to their respective homes and journeys back to London.

Robin finished packing the car and began to head back to the garden, where Edie and Alex were still playing under the watchful eye of Strike who was enjoying a chat with Ted and Lucy. As she walked through the kitchen, she was apprehended by Joan coming out of the utility room.

Before meeting Joan, Robin had envisaged her as a sturdy matron type. In fact, she was bird-like in stature, with steel grey hair and slender wire-framed glasses. Robin had enjoyed talking with her the previous evening and now suspected that her petite frame belied a much larger character than was immediately apparent.

“Are you off back to London dear?” she asked.

“Yes, otherwise it really will be silly o’clock by the time we get back. Kids aren’t back at school until Tuesday fortunately.”

Joan’s gaze was in the garden, where Strike was now pointing something out to Alex on the horizon.

“They’re lovely children Robin, a real credit to you.”

Robin beamed at the compliment. “Thank you Joan, that’s really kind. We've had a lovely time here this week, and last night especially.”

“He thinks the world of you, you know,” Joan added, nodding at Strike’s semi-recumbent figure, “You will look after him for us, won’t you?”

Robin frowned, “Did he say something?”

“He didn’t have to my love,” Joan smiled back, “We’ve always known, but sometimes you just have to sit back and let fate deal with these things.”

Robin nodded, reflecting that fate had certainly taken its bloody time.

Joan reached for her hand and gaze it a surprisingly strong squeeze. “Still, you’re here now. Welcome to the family Robin.”

“I…um…thank you,” replied Robin, somewhat disconcerted.

“Have a safe trip back, hopefully it won’t be too long before we see you all again,” Joan smiled, her pale blue eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

Strike, somehow sensing their presence behind him, turned around and smiled, then called Alex and Edie to let them know it was time to go and followed them into the kitchen as Joan made her way out to join her husband.

“Do we have to go now?” opined Alex, looking thoroughly dejected.

“Yes, we do,” stated Robin firmly, with a glance at Strike. “Just pop upstairs and check that we’ve left nothing behind in your room. Edie you too please…and make sure you check properly,” she called as they made their way upstairs.

“Clever thinking. Ellacott,” grinned Strike, pulling her into the utility room and kicking the door shut as he pushed her gently against it and claimed her mouth, his tongue snaking between her lips to meet hers. They didn’t pull away until they heard footsteps travelling down the landing above toward the stairs.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all morning,” Strike grinned. “So, I’ll see you Tuesday? In the office?”

Robin nodded. “But no pulling me into cupboards for a snog there, okay?”

“I’ll try to restrain myself, but perhaps we could go for an early dinner after work, if Matthew’s got the kids? It is Tuesday that’s his day isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. And then maybe you could come over on Saturday? For a...sleepover? Work permitting of course.”

“Of course.” He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “I really do want to spend some time with the kids too, you know. Even if we’re not telling them for a bit.”

“I know, we’ll sort something out.”

“Mummy, where are you? We’re ready.”

She shared a brief final kiss before emerging from the utility room as Alex walked into the kitchen.

“Right let’s say our goodbyes and get on our way then.”

A few minutes later, Strike walked the three of them out to the waiting Audi, carrying Robin’s carefully prepared cool bag of snacks and drinks for the journey which he stashed on the front seat as Robin buckled the kids into their car seats.

“Can we come back again one day Mum?” asked Alex. “I love it here.”

She shared a look with Strike.

“I think that can probably be arranged,” he told him, smiling.

They set off through the winding country lanes, Strike waving until they were out of sight. In the back of the car, Alex and Edie were suspiciously quiet, although she thought she could hear them whispering over the sound of the stereo.

“You ask her…ewww…no!”

“Mummy,” Edie’s voice eventually came from the back seat, “Is Corm’r’n your friend?”

“Well, yes of course he is.”

“Is he…” she paused for effect, “…your boyfriend?”

“Um…”

“Because me and Alex think he should be,” she stated firmly, adjusting the police hat which, since the addition of the sparkly headband now seemed to be permanently glued to her head. "Daddy's got a girlfriend...her name is Sarah. So it's only fair that you should have a boyfriend."

So he was still seeing Shadlock then, thought Robin, realising within half a heartbeat that whilst she wasn't impressed with him being so indiscreet around Alex and Edie, she otherwise couldn't care less. She beamed back at her children in the rear-view mirror as they collapsed into embarrassed giggles.

“We’ll see sweetheart,” she told her, crossing her fingers on the gear stick. “We’ll see.”


	38. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end...

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of the church of St Just in Roseland, warming the wooden pews and highlighting the dust motes that hung in the air. The air was full of the scent of ivory roses, which, entwined with scarlet gerberas and assorted greenery bedecked the windowsills, pew ends and altar. 

The sound of hushed chatter filled the air against a backdrop of classical music. At the front of the church the bridegroom sat, tapping his feet in their perfectly polished shoes restlessly on the stone floor. Beside him his best friend gave him a nudge, while from behind he felt his uncle lay a large, comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, it’ll be fine.”

The door at the back of the church creaked open and the bride’s mother entered, smiling tearfully in midnight blue. As she took her seat, the processional music began to play and the congregation rose, many turning their heads in eager anticipation of the first glimpse of the bride, who looked calm and happy on her father’s arm, in a strapless ivory dress with a crystal and bead encrusted bodice and delicate layered tulle skirt.

Behind four bridesmaids followed, two adults in scarlet dresses, and behind them a fair-haired teenager dressed the same, holding the hand of her five-year-old sister in an ivory dress trimmed with scarlet ribbon, her riot of dark curls held in place with a rose trimmed headband.

The groom relaxed visibly as he watched his bride walk towards him, peel back her veil to kiss her father and hand her bouquet to the nearest of her attendants who took their seats in the pews opposite. The younger attendants slide into the one behind him with the rest of their family.

The vicar, a young, good looking man with a slightly receding hairline and ginger beard, began to speak.

“Dearly beloved, we have come together here today to witness the marriage of Jack Edward Martin and Brooke Herbert, to ask God’s blessing on them, and to share their joy…”

Sitting behind the happy couple, Strike squeezed Robin’s hand, rubbing his thumb affectionately over the slim gold band he’d placed on her finger eight years earlier, not a million away from this very church.

They’d married at Trebah Gardens, Robin not wanting a church wedding, and being happy to hold the occasion in Cornwall. It was after all, Strike’s first trip down the aisle, and it was easier for Ted and Joan who were considerably older than her own parents. They’d married in early autumn, surrounded by sunflowers, Robin wearing a cream dress not dissimilar in style to the one Strike had brought her from Vashti all those years previously. Florence Leda Strike had arrived three years later, making their little family complete.

The previous ten years had largely been kind to their friends and family. The breast cancer that had afflicted Linda Ellacott never returned, and in addition to Florence, she and Michael acquired a further three grandchildren. Two grandsons, courtesy of Martin and his partner, and a further granddaughter, adopted by Jon and Jay. Stephen and Jenny remained happily married, their children now at high school and college.

Lucy and Joe had been living in Cornwall for nearly nine years, both enjoying the slower, more relaxed pace of the countryside and the sea. Adam, Lucy’s eldest at twenty-nine was an architect, living with his girlfriend in Bexleyheath. Oliver, now twenty-five was working overseas in conservation and single.

Jack and Brooke had started emailing regularly after he’d left for Sandhurst, having always gotten on well despite the four-year age gap. They’d not seen each other for over a year when fate saw fit for him to be back in the UK for her nineteenth birthday. He’d suggested a pub dinner to make up for the fact he’d missed her eighteenth the previous year, and from that evening on neither of them had looked at anyone else. He managed to be present two years later for her twenty-first birthday, where he’d proposed with a delicate platinum and diamond solitaire in front of all their friends and family members.

It wasn’t always easy for them, being young and with Jack being away with the army so much. He’d moved rapidly through the ranks and into the SIB and recently been promoted to Captain. Brooke however, was a bright, ambitious young woman with plans of her own. She had just completed a five-year medical degree at King’s College and was about to start her career as a junior doctor, hoping to eventually specialise in paediatric oncology.

Nick and Ilsa were insanely proud of both their children. Logan, who was now nineteen, had secured an apprenticeship as a trainee chef in a well-respected hotel in outer London. The family no longer ordered takeaway curry when the Ellacott-Strikes came around for a visit, although Logan usually had to leave them home-made ‘ready meals’ being too busy with his job and his boyfriend, a music student, to spend much time at home. 

Alex and Edie had quickly adapted, as children do, to both their parent’s new partners, and doted on their little sister, who had, unlike their younger brother on Matthew’s side who now lived in New York with his mother and stepfather, been a very much planned and wanted addition to the family.

Alex, now seventeen, was halfway through A-levels, and planning a gap year, after which he hoped to study, and eventually teach, history. Edie was still determined to join the police, and already incessantly nagging her ‘uncle’ Eric to let her join him for a work placement at New Scotland Yard when she was fifteen.

The business, now of Strike and Ellacott, continued to go from strength to strength, with two further full-time investigators, and of course, their own in-house forensic psychologist. 

Ceremony over, the guests made their way out into the summer sunshine, Florence in her father’s arms, Robin pushing Uncle Ted’s wheelchair, and they milled about chatting whilst the photographer took a multitude of photographs of the happy couple with various combinations of attendants, friends and family.

Strike stood behind his wife, his arms wrapped around her waist as they watched Edie and Florence pose for photos, whilst Alex chatted with Logan. 

“If someone had told me eleven years ago that I’d be standing here watching my nephew get married with my own wife and family, I’d have called them crazy,” he murmured into Robin’s ear, sending a ripple of contended arousal through her body which ten years had done little to diminish.

“No regrets then,” she asked rhetorically, leaning back into his solid chest and wrapping her arms over his own.

“Only that we didn’t get to do it sooner,” he grinned down at her. “We could have squeezed in at least one more little Ellacott-Strike,” he joked, his eyes on his daughter over her shoulder,

Robin nodded, silent for a few moments.

“I forgot to tell you yesterday with everything going on…I got my test results back from the GP.”

She felt Strike stiffen behind her. She’d been having symptoms for a couple of months now, which she’d largely brushed off. 

“It turns out it’s not peri-menopause after all…”

“Then what…?” Strike struggled to control the fear in his voice.

“You know that bonus Ellacott-Strike you just mentioned?” Robin turned in his arms and looked up at him with a rueful grin.

“No!”

“Yes.”

The gathered onlookers were briefly distracted from the bride and groom by the sight of an enormous middle-aged man literally sweeping his wife off her feet and spinning her round in their midst, before dropping her to the ground and delivering a very thorough and completely unselfconscious kiss to her smiling lips.

“Will you ever stop surprising me, Ellacott?” he asked, gazing adoringly at her as he fumbled to tuck lose strands of her hair back into place.

“Probably not,” she admitted.

“Good,” he replied firmly. “That’s just the way I like it.”

And hand in hand, they followed the rest of their family out to the double decker bus waiting to take them to Jack and Brooke’s reception, and another happy ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all the lovely comments. This was only supposed to be a dozen chapters at most, but as usual the characters ran away from me and here we are! This story has been a refuge for me at a particularly difficult time and all the feedback I've received really had meant such a lot.
> 
> I thought a few weeks ago I might return to this, not with a full 'sequel' but with a series of snapshots of Robin and Cormoran's life together over the ten years between them getting together and the epilogue. It seems that might be quite a popular idea so do let me know if there's any aspect you fancy reading about, either on here or on tumblr @robinlestrange


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